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1 . ' 




A Fisherman’s Daughter. pRONTisriECE, 


A 


FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 


BY 

JENNIE HARRISON, 

AUTHOR OF “jean MACDONALL’S WORK,” “ROGER DUNHAM’S 

CHOICE,” ETC. 

COA/G^^N. 

APR 5 7 )a9i^ I 


i>ip76^ /■ 


d" 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 



COPYRIGHT, 1891. 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 


/ 2 - 3 


A 


FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 


I. 

She stood thinking of home, and there was a 
strange look of mingled longing and regret upon 
her face. The shine of both tears and hopes 
was in her eyes. She was only a girl, and life 
meant so much to her, so very much ! 

She had done well ; every one said so. They 
were proud of her, those who had sought her out 
years before, recognizing the undeveloped riches 
of her girlhood, and brought her from her sim- 
ple home to receive the advantages of an educa- 
tion in the great city. Yes, they were proud of 
her. 

“ I wish we could keep the child,” said Uncle 
Barton with a tender accent in his voice ; “ but 
I suppose they will want her down there.” 

“ Down there !” Yes, that was what she was 
thinking of at that very moment. “ Down 
there ” was her home — “ down there ” where the 
sea washed up on the white sands with its ever- 


4 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


varying voice, and where the simple homes of 
the fisher-folk stood to catch the clear sunlight 
or the beat of the storm from year to year. 

“ Down there.” Down there her way lay 
now, and perhaps as long as life should last. 
Was she content ? 

She Stood as she had gone up to her room 
.from the congratulations of the family — stood 
there in her white graduation-dress, with the 
flowers at her belt; they all drooping with the 
heat of the day, she all fresh and sparkling and 
bright in the joy of her little womanly honors, a 
sweet and pleasant creature to look upon. She 
smiled as she stood and thought of it all. 

Down there ! Her life here was over now ; 
her life-work lay down there at home. 

Three years ago her mother’s sister had found 
her out, had recognized her longing for an edu- 
cation, and had taken her from the village school 
to receive the best that the famous city could 
give its daughters. It had been wisely done. 
No great career had been pointed out to her; 
nothing of all that is popularly called a “wo- 
man’s right ” had been set before her as a goal 
for her to reach. She had studied from the pure 
love of knowledge and from the wish to have 
and to be the best that God meant for her. 

The three years had been very happy ones. 
Her aunt and uncle had four sons, but no girl 


A fisherman’s daughter. 5 

had ever been sent them to brighten their home ; 
and so Mysa had come to them as a blessing for 
which their hearts had been longing half uncon- 
sciously all those past years. She had filled a 
vacancy in the household ; she had struck the 
completing chord in the family harmony. 

It had been a wonderful three years to the 
girl ; so much had come to her from that great 
life ever throbbing about the city home, so 
much that was noble and helpful and beautiful, 
so much of what girls love and prize, so much 
that had given her larger thought and higher 
aim. 

She was looking back upon it all now as she 
stood thinking upon her home and life which 
had been — thinking of her home “ down there.'’ 
Was she glad, was she content, to go and leave 
all this ? 

“Now I shall be a fisherman’s daughter 
again, one among the fisher-folk, with their sim- 
ple ways and their blundering words.” 

A little shadow crossed her face as she stood ; 
then suddenly a gleam, as of a glad new thought, 
lighted it. Her fingers sought a tiny cross which 
shone under the ribbons fluttering from her 
throat. 

“ A fisherman’s daughter,” she repeated slow- 
ly and softly, looking down upon the little token ; 
“ yes, and a King’s daughter too, who will be an 


6 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


‘ honorable woman ’ and not a child crying for 
what she cannot have.” 

“Yes, I wish we might keep the dear child/' 
Uncle Barton was saying down stairs. 

“And why couldn’t we, father?” cried Ger- 
ald, the eldest boy. “ We need her here. They 
have another girl down there.” 

“ Oh do keep her,” put in Paul. “ I can’t see 
how a fellow is going to get on at all without his 
little adopted.” 

There were tears in the mother’s eyes as she 
listened. How often had she longed for a girl 
among all those big boys — a sister to love and 
to help them, to soften their rough ways, and 
to mingle her sweet girl-voice with their harsher 
tones ! 

Her fond mother-heart had grown to love 
this girl almost as a daughter. How she clung 
to her now at the thought of separation ! 

“We must not urge Mysa beyond what is 
reasonable, nor put any strong temptation in her 
path,” she said, answering them all ; “ but I will 
ask her to stay and show her how glad we should 
be to have her, and then we must leave her own 
true heart to decide for her.” 

The dinner-bell rang, startling the whole 
party out of their dreaming and planning. Mysa 


A fisherman’s daughter. 7 

hastily pulled out her drooping flowers and ran 
down, her eyes yet glowing with brave and ten- 
der thoughts. 

“ You will excuse me, Aunt Julie, will you 
not ? I fell to dreaming and forgot to change 
my dress.” 

“Oh but why should you? You couldn’t 
look better; and this is the day for ‘sweet girl- 
graduates ’ in their pretty robes ! Allow me.” 

Gerald offered his arm with a profound bow, 
and they led the way to the dining-room. 

“Yes, we are very proud of our little girl 
to-day,” said Uncle Barton. “ She has done her- 
self great credit.” 

“ Thank you, dear uncle,” answered the girl 
with shining eyes ; “ but I know that, however 
much I shall try, I can never, never do anything 
to half express my gratitude to you and to Aunt 
Julie for all the advantages you have given me, 
for all your kindness and care.” 

“Yes, Mysa, I’ll tell you one way,” began 
Tom, but his mother shook her head at him. 

“ Let Mysa have her dinner first, Tom. You 
know she ate very little breakfast.” 

“ None of your folks were up from the Har- 
bor, were they, Mysa? It was too bad !” 

“No. I thought possibly Jeff might come 
and bring Kitty. But never mind ; I can tell 
them all about it.” 


8 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


She looked eager, not as restful as she should 
have looked after her so recent admirable end- 
ing of an exemplary school career. She did 
not eat much, though she made sincere efforts 
in that direction after her aunt’s remark to 
Tom. 

‘‘You will not sit up to-night to write them 
an account of it — you are tired enough already — 
more especially as they could n’t take the trou- 
ble to come up and see and hear for themselves.” 

Gerald looked as indignant as though he had 
been the neglected one. 

“ Write ? Oh no, Gerald, I shall see them so 
soon now I will wait and tell it.” 

She herself then had said the first word ; and 
after that there was no restraining the eager 
remonstrances of “ the boys.” 

“ See them soon ! What do you mean, little 
sister? You’re never going to forsake us in 
that way now, just when we all need you so 
much ? I can’t believe it of you.” 

“ Of course she is n’t ; she knows our need of 
a sister too well ; do n’t you, little adopted ?” 

There was a suspicious twitching of Paul’s 
young moustache as he spoke, and a dimness 
in the eyes with which he regarded his cousin. 
But Tom, big, bluff Tom, he who was just of 
her own age, he who had been her inseparable 
companion and friend, he it was that touched 


A fisherman’s daughter. 9 

the tenderest chord as he leaned over towards 
her and whispered, 

“O Mysa, don’t go; stay here and help a 
fellow to be good and not to go to the dogs!” 

A great lump came into her throat ; but her 
sweet, cheery voice overreached it. 

“ Dear Tom, you cannot miss me any more 
than I shall miss you I But we will both be 
strong and brave to do right ; going on side by 
side, you know, even though we seem to be far 
apart. And you will write me such good, long 
letters, telling me of everything that is going 
on, and I will write you — oh, Tom — ” 

There was a sudden break in the cheerful 
tone, and the girl’s lips trembled as she bent 
her face over her plate. 

Little more was said until dinner was over. 
Then, in the bright, pleasant parlor — oh, how 
the room fixed itself in the girl’s memory as it 
appeared that happy evening !— they sat together 
to discuss this question which seemed to come 
so near to every heart. 

For many years afterwards Mysa could never 
recall to mind that occasion without seeing her 
cousin Tom, with the half-despairing, half-defi- 
ant look upon his face which had been growing 
there since her first mention of going aw^ay. 
She took a seat by him when she went in the 
room, but he started away from her. 


10 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


‘‘No, no, Mysie ! I can’t bear it ! I must 
get used to it, you know, if you are going away. 
And you can imagine me, if you ever do think 
of a fellow at all, sitting here digging away by 
myself, always missing and mourning my com- 
panion, with her gentle hints and helpful sym- 
pathy !” 

It was a long speech for poor Tom. He had 
begun it in a tone of complaint, but as he went 
on his affection for this kind cousin overcame 
all other feelings. He walked restlessly about 
the room, looking stealthily at Mysa’s face, as if 
hoping that she might relent and say something 
to cheer him in this sudden disappointment 
which had come upon him. 

But Tom’s rejected seat by Mysa was direct- 
ly taken advantage of by his mother, whose 
presence was an infinite comfort to the girl at 
that trying hour. In a plain, straightforward way 
Mrs. Barton spoke to her niece of their unani- 
mous wish that she would continue to make her 
home with them. 

“You know, my dear, how we all love you. 
I need not tell you of that. And it is this very 
love for you which must help us to be unself- 
ish now, at this important time of your life. 
It is an important time, dear child ; you can 
realize that yourself. It is one of those occa- 
sions which God sends us sometimes, allowing 


A fisherman’s daughter. II 

US liberty, as it were, to choose that which is 
best, to see plainly two paths, and to step out 
bravely upon that one which seems to tend most 
towards his glory and our own highest good. 
It is not always easy to choose. In such cases 
we must never decide hastily, but always with 
prayer and careful thought. I cannot speak to 
you, Mysa, as well as your own heart can of the 
need which calls you to your own home. Very 
clearly, three years ago, I saw the good which 
would come to you through a complete educa- 
tion, and I did not hesitate to urge your mother 
to spare you. I think I shall never regret that 
step. But now, darling, it is for you, and you 
only, to decide. Though we may and must re- 
peat to you how dearly we love you and how we 
long to keep you among us, we have no right to 
bias your decision in the least.” 

“Oh, mother, mother!” cried out Tom, who 
had come near and was standing behind her 
chair, with his eager eyes fixed on his cousin’s 
face. 

“ No, my boy. Mysa sees for herself that I 
am right. But she is not to make any choice 
to-night; perhaps not even to-morrow. She is 
to think long and well over it. And now, after 
this day of special excitement, it is better that 
we should all put away any anxious thought 
and be as merry as possible.” 


12 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


They were quite ready to agree with this 
suggestion. Gerald tuned his violin for a duet 
with Mysa, Gregory handed out the music and 
prepared to turn the leaves for his cousin. Un- 
cle Barton’s evening paper lay quite neglected 
as he watched the young folks. And even Tom 
succeeded in producing a smile as Mysa placed 
her arm affectionately across his shoulder and 
remarked that she “ intended keeping her part 
of their bargain that one should not grow an 
inch taller than the other, and she hoped he 
would be equally honest.” 

So the vexed question was laid aside for that 
one glad evening. But Mysa found herself re- 
peating again and again, between the strains of 
music and in the pauses of conversation, “ I will 
take it to God.” And when her aunt kissed her 
good-night at the door of her own room, she too 
whispered, “ Leave it with God, dear child !” 


A fisherman's daughter. 


13 


II. 

She was only a girl after all. As such I 
want you to regard her in this struggle. Some- 
times, even to girls, a question comes to be de- 
cided which brings trials and temptations with 
it. 

So this did to Mysa Redwood. The tempter 
understood it well. He waits for just such op- 
portunities. He went to Mysa in various forms 
of disguise that night as she strove to see her 
path of duty clearly. 

She had thought it all settled before she 
went down to dinner that evening. But some- 
how all the loving faces and the fond words 
had disturbed her again. There was Tom, too ! 
Alas, that poor Tom, who wanted to do right 
and to be true, should be used by the wily 
tempter as the very strongest argument of all ! 

This is how Mysa’s thoughts ran as she lay 
sleepless in the pretty room where she had 
spent so many happy hours : 

“ They want me here ; I suppose they really 
need me. Uncle Barton says I fill a vacancy he 
has always felt. He will miss me in so many 
ways. I can do so many little things for him. 


14 A fisherman’s daughter. 

just as a daughter would; and for Aunt Julie 
too. Why, she calls on me so often, and it really 
seems a great help to her to have me take 
things off her hands. But Tom! poor Tom; 
it seems almost wrong for me to leave him now, 
just when he is trying and caring to do right 
and when he comes to me so freely and is will- 
ing to do what. I suggest.” 

A break in her reasoning came just there, 
as if a new voice had spoken, a voice which 
seemed to say, Has he not God to whom he 
can go? Will he miss all good because you 
have gone out of his reach ?” And the girl felt 
suddenly humbled and ashamed of the little 
pride which had crept into her thoughts and 
plans. 

“ I can give my prayers for Tom as well at 
home as here. His mother is so good and so 
helpful, he will certainly go right with her guid- 
ance.” 

No, she was too honest to let this thought 
of Cousin Tom weigh long as an argument 
against her leaving his home. She was too 
honest not to know that the balance, when all 
things in the line of duty were considered, was 
greatly in favor of her own simple, seaside 
home. God had work for her there. She must 
go to it bravely and cheerfully. All that good 
which had come to her in these last happy 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


15 


years among her uncle’s household she must 
carry with her now to exalt and to aid in the 
new life-work before her. Aunt Julie must see 
that her generosity had not been in vain ; some 
flowering and fruit must come from the seed so 
kindly sown. 

At last, wearied with the long argument and 
the battling with temptations, yet wholly sure of 
her decision, she fell into a peaceful sleep. ' 

And when they saw her in the morning they 
knew that her mind was made up, and that 
nothing they could say or do would turn her 
from her purpose. 

“ But you will not leave us immediately, 
Mysa? You will give us a little time in which 
to lionize and to make much of you, now that 
your school-days are over?” 

“Why, yes, uncle; if you will keep me a 
little while longer, I should like to stay with 
you all a few days more. It is hard to go all at 
once. You have been so good to me I am afraid 
I am rather spoiled.” 

If they had been “good to her” before, they 
certainly vied with one another to make those 
last days happy and to fill- them with pleasant 
remembrances. 

Paul was, as he called himself, her “ fellow- 
graduate.” He too had just received the crown- 
ing honors of his college, and though he was 


1 6 A fisherman’s daughter. 

two years her senior, and thougli she was only a 
“High School graduate,” they were very good 
friends together, and Paul did not despise her 
“girl’s opinion,” nor was he too lofty to discuss 
any subject of interest with her. He knew very 
well how he would miss her. It had been pleas- 
ant to have a girl like Mysa always ready to 
appreciate one’s need of a quiet study or of 
books and papers undisturbed, of luncheon on 
the stroke of the hour, or of a stitch put in at 
precisely the minute called for. In all these 
little things, so important to a student, his cousin 
Mysa had been like a loving sister. Yes, Paul 
would miss her. 

She would miss Paul too. Jeff, her brother, 
was of the same age as Paul. She sometimes 
wondered if he would be at all like him. She 
hoped he would. She had only seen Jeff once 
in those three years, and she felt almost a stran- 
ger towards him. 

Cousin Gerald would certainly miss Mysa; 
and he devoted himself to her entertainment 
during those last days. The concert season was 
scarcely yet over, and he brought tickets to her, 
giving up his evenings, as she, he remembered, 
had often given her evenings to help him in 
some special plan or purpose. 

Tom, vacation having begun, haunted his 
cousin all day long, even coaxing his mother to 


A fisherman’s daughter. 17 

let him accompany her and Mysa upon their 
own special little expeditions. 

As for the schoolboy Gregory, he declared 
he would soon follow his cousin to her own 
home, inasmuch as he could not do without his 
adopted sister.” And Mrs. Barton, regarding 
her youngest boy, realized how many small 
boyish wants it would now be her task to sup- 
ply, since Gregory could no longer call upon the 
ever-ready Cousin Mysa. 

Swiftly and happily the days went by. Ah, 
such glad days ! which lived for ever in the 
young girl’s memory and made her whole life 
better. We do not know for what a future help 
and joy we are working, dear readers, when 
we strive in our little ways to make one or 
another happy in the present. God lets the 
light of our love reach far outward, spreading to 
an unknown future. 

Mysa declared to Uncle Barton that they 
would certainly “ spoil her ” if she did not get 
away soon. Each day brought some new plan 
of pleasure, some flitting here or there to see or 
to hear. 

The girlish heart rejoiced in it all. The 
companionship of her cousins and their young 
friends was doubly pleasant to her now that she 
must so soon lose it. 

“ Are n’t you going to invite us down to your 


2 


i8 A fisherman’s daughter. 

seaside home, Mysa?” asked Arthur Godwyn, 
who, with his sister, was very intimate at her 
uncle’s. 

Oh, we ’re going, with or without an invita- 
tion,” laughed Chester James, as he rested on 
his oars and glanced back to see where the other 
boat was. They were rowing on a little lake 
during one of their holiday excursions, and the 
noonday air was growing very warm. “ I am ex- 
tremely partial to the sea, and have a great curi- 
osity regarding Graves’ Harbor!” 

A slow color crept into Mysa Redwood’s face. 
What was it? Was she going to be ashamed of 
her home? No! She looked with an answer- 
ing smile into Chester’s face. 

“Certainly you will always find a welcome 
there. And of course, Arthur, you will bring 
Grace, for she has promised to come and see 
me.” 

“ Graves’ Harbor is a fine place for a summer 
visit, though I can’t say I like its name !” said 
Gerald. “ Some ancient fisherman’s name, 
wasn’t it, Mysa?” 

“Yes; one of whom they tell many curious 
stories,” she answered. 

“Around the fire at night, when the waves 
roll mountain high and the wind howls furi- 
ously ! That is the orthodox time, is n’t it ?” 

They all laughed at Arthur’s description. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 19 

But afterwards Mysa said quietly, “We are all 
plain, simple folk at the Harbor — just homely 
fisher - people. But we will make our friends 
always welcome.” 

“ Homely fisher-folks !” repeated her cousin 
Paul to himself, looking at Mysa as she sat there 
with the sunlight flickering among the wavy hair, 
and her pure, intelligent face so full of feeling 
as she gazed thoughtfully at the fresh foliage 
along the shore. He liked to predict something 
wonderful for this fair cousin — some bright, 
beautiful future, in which she should shine and 
be happy. He wondered why she must go back 
to that lowly home by the sea, leaving all the 
congenial friends and occupations of the city. 
Ah, Paul ! do you not remember that it is the 
Lord who ordereth all our lives, placing one 
here and another there, according to his own 
infinite wisdom and love ? And we may be sure 
that, wherever our place is, there also is the 
work which the Father’s hand has given us to 
do! Mysa Redwood’s, then, is down there by 
the sea, and we shall learn how she does it. 

“ Life cannot be all vacation-time, you know,” 
she said to Grace, who was bewailing their near 
separation. “And I feel as if I had already 
enjoyed more than my share 1” 

“But what can you find to. do down there, 
Mysa?” asked Grace seriously. 


20 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


“ I suppose just about what any girl finds at 
her home. There are sisters and brothers, you 
know, and my mother is alone a great deal, 
too.” 

But wont you be dreadfully lonely, at least 
during the long winter-time? You ought to 
come up to the city for the winters.” 

“ Of course she will do that ! ” said Tom, with 
an air of assurance. 

Mysa only smiled. Her heart knew its own 
firm resolutions. 

And so the bright day wore on to its close ; 
the young hearts dreamed their dreams and 
tried to look on into that mysterious future 
which stretched before them. 

It was Mysa’s last excursion of that holiday- 
time. She looked at the bright, familiar faces, 
as they gathered in her uncle’s parlor that 
evening. How many of those who had been 
friends together for so long would ever meet 
again in the same happy way ? 

They had been closely bound together from 
childish days on through years of study and 
youthful aspiration. Bright hopes and dreams 
had been confidingly whispered, and many plans 
for future honor and usefulness had been formed 
in friendly fellowship of thought. 

Now they w^re going forth to the great field 
of life, to try how successfully those plans might 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


21 


be carried out and how much of reality would 
come from those day-dreams. 

But Mysa’s cousins had determined that this 
last gathering should be very mirthful and 
pleasant ; that, much as they should miss their 
“adopted” sister, no shadow should darken this 
last evening which she spent with them. 

In fact it was so much more of a party in her 
honor than she had realized, that her heart 
throbbed with fresh gladness as the passing 
hours revealed one thing after another of all 
that had been arranged in token of the love and 
good-will they bore her. 

And when at the close of the little “ supper ” 
Tom came forward and asked her to accept 
something as a parting gift, she was quite over- 
whelmed with surprise and emotion. Her eyes 
were so dim v/ith happy tears that she could 
scarcely see what the package was which Tom 
held towards her, and in her ears was a rushing 
sound which mingled with his little speech and 
confused the kind, cousinly words. Gerald came 
to her relief. 

“We have startled Mysa with our little sur- 
prise. Sit down, cousin, and let us undo the 
package while you think over your answer to 
Tom’s speech !” And his deft fingers untied 
the string, folded back the wrappings, and dis- 
played a complete set of the English poets. 


22 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


“ Oh, how kind ! How can I ever thank you ?” 
she exclaimed. 

“ Just give us a stray thought now and then 
when you sit among the seashore rocks with one 
of these volumes in your hand !” 

In truth, her glowing face lifted to theirs 
was thanks enough for any one. They saw that 
her heart was full — too full for words. And 
they wondered, as the young are apt to wonder, 
at the strange fate which led this girl away from 
the city life, which she might adorn and which 
was pleasant to her, to be shut up in an out-of- 
the-way fishing hamlet, where her talents would 
have no field, and where she would find no con- 
genial society. 

But ah, young friends, he who led her was 
God! 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


23 


III. 

The farewells were all spoken. Mysa had 
looked a last good-by upon the bright room 
which had been her own for three happy years. 
Her heart yearned over each angle and corner. 
What precious hopes and joys of girlhood had 
first come to light in that room ! What victories 
over “problems” and what conquests in rhet- 
oric and composition had been gained in that 
quiet spot ! “To what purpose had it all been ?” 
she was tempted to ask now. 

“ Dear child, do not give up your books and 
studies,” said Aunt Julie, as they drove to the 
railroad dep6t with several cousinly escorts, 
chief among whom was Tom, with so sad a face 
that it made Mysa’s heart ache. 

“ Indeed no, dear aunt ! They will be a great 
comfort to me, and will seem to bring you all 
about me again,” the girl answered, with tears 
in her eyes. 

A good-sized box containing all her books 
had been sent on to Graves’ Harbor. 

Her aunt could not wholly repress a hope 
that some day she would have “ her girl ” back 
again to brighten her home and be a companion 
to her, as only a girl can be. But she was too 


24 A fisherman’s daughter. 

wise to utter any such hope to Mysa. She only 
counselled her to keep up her study and reading, 
and promised that she should never want for 
books or periodicals. 

Mrs. Barton was going all the way with her 
niece. She wanted to give the girl back into 
the mother-hands, and to say some words which 
she hoped might serve to bring about her pet 
scheme. 

When they had caught the last wave of 
Tom’s hat, and their journey was fairly begun, 
a silence fell upon the two travellers. One was 
planning how she should urge upon her sister 
the desirableness of Mysa’s living in a more 
congenial atmosphere than that afforded her in 
Graves’ Harbor. The other was wondering 
what her home and life would be like in all the 
vague future that stretched before her. Some- 
how the light had faded from the vision since 
she had parted from her cousins and all her 
young companions. Her courage was not so 
buoyant, her zeal not so ardent. Things looked 
differently when viewed by herself alone. 

She fell into vague dreams, in which she 
could hear Gerald’s sympathetic words and 
Tom’s proud, affectionate praise, Arthur God- 
wyn’s generous approval of what she did or 
said, and his sister’s girlish outbursts of delight 
at her friend’s suggestions and schemes. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 25 

Ah, no ! it was all quite different already ; 
her spirit seemed weak, the color gone from her 
morning sky, the ringing voice of hope from her 
matin songs ! Anon she would rouse herself 
and chat with a resolute cheer, until her aunt 
almost thought she was glad, as a child should 
be, at the return home to father and mother and 
brothers and sisters. 

They were fast drawing near there now. The 
hum and activity of the city life lay far behind 
them ; the strange calm of the wide sea seemed 
to settle down upon their hearts. What after 
all were their little plans and proposals? Was 
it not He who held the waters in the hollow of 
his hand who also marked out their lives for 
them ? 

Mysa began to think earnestly of her home, 
that seaside abode which she had left three 
years before. She had not visited her home 
during those three years, and now, as she tried 
to recall it to her mind, all became dim and in- 
distinct ; only the face of her mother remained 
clear and perfect. 

Her elder brother, “Jeff,” had once made a 
short visit at Uncle Barton’s ; but somehow it 
had not been altogether satisfactory. Jeff did 
not seem to attune himself readily to the house- 
hold melody. His words and ways jarred some- 
how, and his sister had not be^n able to feel any 


26 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


of that pride which a sister loves to show in an 
elder brother. That was all that Mysa had seen 
of her family during the three years ; and now 
she felt her heart reaching out towards them all 
and wondering if they were glad that she was 
coming to be with them again. 

As she wondered with a yearning heart her 
face grew so bright and so full of tender feeling 
that Aunt Julie, watching it, realized a half-sad 
pleasure. Had she done right, after all, in 
taking this girl from her home and giving her 
such an education as would lift her above all her 
companions at the humble seaside dwelling ? A 
great uneasiness took possession of Mrs. Barton 
as she thought it over. What if, after all, she 
had done this girl harm when she had intended 
only good ? She prayed that this might not be ; 
and we shall see if the good which she had in- 
tended did really come to Mysa Redwood’s life. 

Just as the sunset hour was flooding the 
great harbor and all the fisher cottages with its 
glory, the rumbling stage brought them to the 
town. A sort of chill fell upon the girl’s heart 
as the stage stopped at the same old “hotel” 
which she vaguely remembered, a grim, un- 
sightly spot, with a crowd of idle seamen and 
ragged children and a few gossiping women in 
the background. They walked quickly on to 
get out into the quiet by the sea, where the 


A fisherman’s daughter. 27 

cottages stood more apart and where the cool 
air was so refreshing. 

“ O Mysa, the sea is beautiful !” exclaimed 
Aunt Julie. “No wonder it has such an attrac- 
tion for men. But I used to hope that your 
father would rise and make his fortune and 
bring his children away where they could be 
properly educated.” 

“ Mother used to talk of that once too, I re- 
member,” said Mysa ; “ but I suppose she has 
given up any such idea altogether now.” 

“ Yes, she has so many cares to fill her mind. 
Poor little Mary ! But now she will have you, 
my child. And oh you can do so much for her, 
for them all, if you will; and I think I know 
your heart,” she added, looking tenderly into 
the young face by her side. 

“Yes, Aunt Julie, that is what I have come 

home for. I did want to go to teach in the 

Seminary ; but I felt that my work was set for 
me here at my own home. If I can only have 
courage enough to do it well!” and the tears 
filled her eyes^ as she thought how soon her lov- 
ing friend and counsellor would leave her and 
she must do battle alone. Alone ! Nay, was she 
not a King’s daughter; and what child of a 
King was ever left to fight alone ? 

And then a tall, awkward figure was seen 
coming along the sands towards them. He be- 


28 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

trayed no great haste, as sometimes brothers do 
in going to meet a long-absent sister. He ap- 
peared quite self-eontained and ealm. 

“There is Jeff !” eried Mysa as she suddenly 
quickened her pace to meet him. 

“How do you do?” he said, putting forth a 
large, rough palm. 

Mysa would ‘not have cared how rough nor 
how large the palms, had they only enfolded her 
with a strong and loving touch — held her a mo- 
ment in a true, brotherly greeting. Her heart 
was hungry for some home love to atone for that 
which she had left behind. But alas, that cool 
hand-greeting was all ! It passed from Mysa to 
Mrs. Barton, and they walked on together. 

It was only a few yards farther to the home 
where Mysa had been born and where she had 
spent her childhood days. 

There indeed was one who pressed forward 
with open arms and dim eyes to clasp her child 
to her bosom! Ah, one is always sure of the 
mother-love ! That never fails. And Mysa’s 
tears came freely as she felt the loving arms 
about her and heard the whispered words, “ My 
child, my child, how glad I am !” 

They went in, and there was Kitty, a very 
pretty girl next in age to Mysa, and dressed 
very much more than one would have thought 
necessary to meet a sister. She kissed her sister 


A fisherman’s daughter. 29 

and aunt, taking a careful survey of their dress, 
which apparently left her quite well satisfied 
with her own attire. 

Charley, who had been persuaded to wash 
and dress for the occasion, came forward awk- 
wardly to greet the new-comers. Four-year-old 
Ben was shy and would not be friendly with 
either of the strangers. 

“ Father ’s away. He ’ll be sorry that he 
missed your coming,” said Mysa’s mother. But 
no matter, we shall have you all the time now.” 

“Is it a long trip, mother?” asked Mysa. 
She had a strong desire to see her father again. 
Three years had dimmed the image in her mem- 
ory somewhat. 

It was a pleasant sort of home-coming, after 
all. Mysa’s heart grew \varm. 

Jeff had gone off to his work again. 

“ Kitty,” said her mother, “ you take Mysa 
and your Aunt Julie up stairs to get off their 
things. You must n’t mind our poor little rooms. 
You ’ll find a difference, I ’m afraid, child,” she 
added, turning to Mysa. “Our fisher - folks’ 
houses are not like the city houses, you know.” 

“ But this is my home, mother,” said Mysa 
in a soft voice, stopping to kiss her mother’s 
cheek again. 

And then Charley broke in with boyish dis- 
regard of all sentiment, “ O Mysie, the big box 


30 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


came with your name on it, and we put it up in 
your room. ’T was awful heavy !” 

“ Yes, there are a good many books in that 
box, Charley. I wonder if you like books.” 

‘‘No, I don’t,” he asserted boldly. And 
while they all laughed Mysa resolved to try and 
teach him to like his books. That should be a 
part of her work. Ah, how dim and undefined 
it all looked as she thought of her plans for a 
great work down there by the sea — a great work, 
fit for the daughter of a King ! Well, she must 
be brave and true, and perhaps she would soon 
begin to see it all more clearly. 

I have not yet shown you this girl’s home, 
the simple house by the sea to which she had 
come back with such great resolves and such 
high hopes. 

A girl’s home is a great deal to her ; I mean 
the house, the outward form which incloses all 
the sweet and beautiful things that go to make 
up the home. If it be only an outward form it 
means a great deal to a girl of Mysa Redwood’s 
age. As we grow older we learn to care more, far 
more, for that which is within. But to youth, 
to girlhood especially, comes first the delight in 
a pretty house, with all pretty belongings and 
adornments. And so I will show you Mysa’s at 
its best, with the light of the setting sun falling 
upon it and the June breezes blowing about it. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


31 


IV. 

It stood a little back from the shore upon a 
spot of rocky, rising ground, catching the full 
force of all winds as well as the generous glow 
of every sunbeam — 

“ All the sun and all the shower.” 

It was well built — as indeed it must needs have 
been to withstand the buffeting of wind and 
weather — and somewhat more pretentious in ap- 
pearance than most of the other houses around. 

John Redwood was an ambitious, man in a 
certain way. He had made himself a sort of 
leader among the sailor men and lads at the 
Harbor. He had been industrious and saving, 
and being also a kind friend and good neighbor, 
no one of all the fisher-folk grudged him his 
position. 

When Mary Jeffries had married him her 
family regarded it as a foolish match and a step 
downward for her. For a long time they held 
aloof from her, and in her lonely home she lived 
on, less ambitious than her husband, but striving 
to make things comfortable for him and for the 
children. 

Sometimes, when he was away on his long 
voyages, she would find time to think back over 


33 A fisherman’s daughter. 

the past and to long for a sight of her own peo- 
ple. 

It was a glad day for her when her sister 
Julia sought her out and saw in Mysa that which 
attracted her and made her long to take the 
girl away where she could have educational ad- 
vantages. 

But the years had been more lonely to Mrs. 
Redwood without her eldest daughter, and she 
was now quite happy at having the girl with 
her again. 

Mysa went out and stood in the sunset light 
to look at her home ; not freshly painted, not 
tall and perfectly arranged as were the city 
houses she had known, only a plain, weather- 
stained building, long and low, over which the 
red sunset glow streamed, striking the upper 
windows with a touch of fire ; no nice propor- 
tions, no ornamental work, not a door nor a win- 
dow made with any purpose in view but the 
most practical use ; no fine curtains of lace, no 
soft hangings to give grace and finish ; just a 
simple, ungarnished abiding-place. And yet 
what a glory of nature all about it ; what color 
and light and grace ; what a grandeur from the 
old ocean ; what room to breathe and live in ! 

Along the shore to the eastward a ledge of 
rocks stood up dark and grand, like a fortress ; 


A fisherman’s daughter. 33 

and Mysa caught sight of the little birds flitting 
in and out of their stony shelter, settling upon 
the high peaks to utter their good-night songs. 
How still and peaceful it was. Surely she could 
be happy here. How could she help it ? 

Presently there came a sound on the quiet 
evening air, a stir down along the shore. The 
fisher-boats were coming in, and the men were 
talking and laughing merrily. Some were sing- 
ing, and others were greeting the little ones 
who had come down on the sands to meet them. 
Rough and uncouth some of the fishermen were, 
but they had honest hearts and kindly feelings. 

What was this news which the children were 
telling down there ? What was it the fishermen 
heard as they tugged away at their boats, bring- 
ing them well up on the sand ? Just this : ‘^Mysa 
Redwood has come home 

“Ah, and Jack’s off for a long trip. Too 
bad ! He ’ll be wanting to see his girl, will Jack 
Redwood. He sets a great store by Mysie.” 

“ And how does she look ? Did you see 
her?” 

Yes, they had seen her. They had watched 
the stage come in and had known “ Mysie ” 
right away, though she had become “a fine 
lady,” they said. 

“ ’Most as tall as Jeff,” asserted one little fel- 
low, eager to tell something astonishing. 

3 


34 A fisherman’s daughter. 

The fisher lads laughed. Some of them lin- 
gered a while in the fading light, talking over 
this arrival, as they were apt to talk over any 
event which made a change in their little neigh- 
borhood. 

“ Jack ” Redwood’s family held a place of 
some importance among the people, and doubt- 
less the return of the eldest daughter -v^ould be 
talked of all along the shore. Why not ? Mysa 
had gone with the others of her age to the vil- 
lage school, had shared with them the wonders 
and dangers of the sea — each one having brother 
or father or uncle among the- fishermen whose 
lives were held by such slender threads as they 
plied their daily task. 

Yes; Mysa’s return meant a great deal to 
the young folks “ down there ” — how much she 
scarcely imagined as she stood watching from 
afar the unloading of the boats and listening to 
the murmur of the voices that made pleasant 
music on the still evening air. As she stood 
there her brother Jeff came up from the village, 
and Kitty called out that supper was ready. 

“ Well, let ’s have it then,” said Jeff, “ for to- 
night is prayer-meeting night. I suppose you 
will go, Mysa?” he added as he and his sister 
entered the house together. 

“ To prayer-meeting, Jeff? No, not to-night. 
I must see all I can of Aunt Julie, for she is go- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 35 

ing back to-morrow. I think I ought not to 
leave her to-night.” 

“ So with all your gettings you did n’t get 
religion,” Jeff answered with a little scornful 
laugh. 

Mysa’s cheek burned, but she said gently, “ I 
don’t know, Jeff. Perhaps, as you say, I never 
got religion. Somehow it seemed to come to 
me and get me, little by little; I cannot say just 
when or how.” 

Then you should do your duty and go to 
the prayer-meeting,” he answered shortly, going 
off to get ready for tea. 

Mysa’s heart was a little sad as they all sat 
down to tea together. There had never been 
much that jarred in Uncle Barton’s household ; 
everything seemed to go on easily and smoothly. 
They did not fret at each other nor vex one 
another, but appeared each to be seeking the 
general good. Would it be very different here 
in her own home ? She sighed as she thought 
of it, and then looking up she saw Aunt Julie’s 
eyes fixed on her with a sorrowful gaze. 

Should she fail in all that the Lord had set 
before her? fail at the very outset? fail and 
grow faint-hearted because she had “looked 
back ” to the brightness which she had left be- 
hind? No, oh no! 

“ I wish we could keep Aunt Julie a week,” 


36 A fisherman’s daughter. 

she said cheerfully ; “but we can’t, I know. We 
should have Uncle Barton and all the big boy 
cousins down here in hot haste after her.’’ 

“ Yes, if Mysa and I were both to desert 
them, I really do not know how they would be 
able to bear it !” said Mrs. Barton, responding 
gladly to Mysa’s cheerful tone. “ Her uncle is 
as big a boy as any one of them in this matter. 
Indeed I think he will miss his ‘ little girl ’ more 
than even the boys ; though they would not like 
to hear me say so.” 

“ So you are all ‘ girls ’ and ‘ boys,’ according 
to city fashion, hey ?” said Jeff with a short, sar- 
castic laugh. 

His mother looked troubled, but Aunt Julie 
took his rude speech very good-naturedly. 

“Yes, Jeff, I believe we are. We like to 
keep young as long as we can. I think it was 
intended that we should enjoy life’s beautiful 
and pleasant things, and be cheerful and youth- 
ful as much as possible.” 

“Yes, Julie, you are right. I wish I had 
been able to do that. I ought to have tried 
more, I suppose. I know it is the right way to 
live.” And poor tired little Mrs. Redwood 
sighed as she spoke. 

“ Nonsense, mother. Would you want every 
old cat frolicking around as if she were a kit- 
ten?” asked Jeff in his brusque way. “If the 


A fisherman’s daughter. 37 

Lord hadn’t meant for us to grow old, he 
wouldn’t have let people’s hair turn gray nor 
made their teeth give out.” 

“Jeff looks at things in a practical way, I 
see,” remarked Aunt Julie pleasantly. Then 
she changed the subject by asking Kitty some 
question which interested her and made her 
talk. 

No, poor Jeff did not look at life from the 
bright and cheery side ; he did not see the 
beauty and use of keeping a young heart and 
youthful kindliness and cheer when age had 
weakened the bodily powers. He did not know 
anything of that beautiful sympathy which binds 
the young to those of older years whose spirits 
are yet bright with youth’s sparkle and hope. 
That a mother should keep her heart young, 
that she might sympathize with her children, 
was an idea utterly incomprehensible to Jeff ; 
its beauty, its unselfishness, were quite beyond 
him. Jeff’s sphere was limited. His daily rou- 
tine included just so much and no more. No 
great enthusiasm ever troubled the waters of his 
soul; no wide outlook over God’s beautiful 
earth ever gave him new and glorified views of 
humanity or of Deity. Poor Jeff! he was to be 
pitied. Religion had not yet conquered his na- 
tive churlishness. 

Perhaps that is why Mrs. Barton received 


38 A fisherman’s daughter. 

his scoffs and jeers in so kindly and forbearing 
a spirit; and that forbearance stirred the old 
sisterly love in his mother’s heart which had 
been lying hiddep away there for long years. 
And as she noticed her aunt’s way, Mysa said to 
herself, “ I will try to act so too ; I will be pa- 
tient and gentle.” 

Yet in her heart she could not refrain from 
contrasting Jeff’s words and manner to his mo- 
ther with the way in which any one of her four 
cousins addressed his mother. Ah ! their con- 
duct was a faint reflection of that Perfect Boy- 
hood and Love which brightened the humble 
home at Nazareth so many years ago ! 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


39 


V. 

But indeed Jeff on his part had his own 
idea of duty to be fulfilled towards his sister 
who had just returned from that most wicked 
spot, “the city.” 

When he returned from prayer-meeting that 
evening his mother and aunt were away by 
themselves having a quiet talk, and Mysa sat 
with Kitty on the covered porch, breathing in 
the fresh summer-night air from the sea. 

The younger ones were in bed, and Jeff 
thought to himself, “She must be delivered 
from those evil habits which she has got into 
there in the city.” 

And straightway he began, “ Mysa, are you 
a member of the church ?” 

“Yes, Jeff,” she answered quietly. 

“ Oh goodness, Jeff !” broke in Kitty, “ do n’t 
begin at Mysie the minute she gets home ! Do 
let her have a little peace, or she ’ll be for start- 
ing off again.” 

“ I shall do my duty, whether you like it or 
not,” was all that Jeff vouchsafed to the younger 
girl. Then turning to Mysa he continued, 

“If you ’re a member you ought to know 
your own duty. I should think your heart 


40 A fisherman’s daughter. 

would have been inclined to go to the meeting 
and give thanks after a safe return to your own 
home.” 

A sore feeling in the girl’s heart, a thought 
of all the gentle kindness which she had known 
in her uncle’s home, inclined her to say, “ It is 
not so much a matter for thanksgiving as you 
seem to suppose !” But she resolutely put back 
the words and answered quietly, “ Perhaps so, 
Jeff ; but I did not think it would be right or 
kind to leave Aunt Julie on this, the last even- 
ing I shall see her in — I do n’t know how 
long !” 

Her lips trembled at the last words, and she 
was glad that the darkness hid the tears in her 
eyes. 

Of course,” began Kitty again in her pretty 
silvery tones, “of course you would want to 
stay at home this first night. I think it would 
look very queer if you did n’t. We don’t mean 
to have those fisher-boys making eyes at our 
Mysa, I can tell you that, Jeff.” 

“ Cease your foolish talk, child ! I am on a 
solemn subject, and I hope Mysa has some sense 
of its importance, too.” 

Mysa kept silence, smiling a little sadly at 
her sister’s last speech. 

“ There are folks enough ready to joke and 
get their fun out of life ; but they a ’n ’t ready to 


A fisherman’s daughter. 41 

do their duty. I hope, Mysa, you ’ll take your 
stand down here and stick to it, and not be led 
astray by all sorts of folly.” 

“ I hope so, Jeff,” she replied quietly. 

“ There ’s more of anything else in this place 
than there is of religion ! And it ’s time to 
stand up on the Lord’s side and warn people 
what they ’re coming to.” 

“Why, Jeff, I did not know that Graves’ 
Harbor was so bad a place,” said Mysa. “ I do 
not want to think that of my home.” 

“ And you need n’t, Mysie. Jeff is always 
preaching about this wicked place ; but it ’s just 
his talk. It isn’t three months since there was 
a big revival here, and Jeff himself was con- 
verted. But he isn’t satisfied with that; he 
keeps nagging everybody, and expects every 
one to do as he does. And they wont,” she 
added with a decisive nod of her head ; “ you 
may make up your mind to that.” 

“No!” said Jeff sternly, as he rose to go in; 
“ there are too many like you, who have no care 
for anything but just to have a good time now. 
But there ’ll come a day — mark my words — when 
you ’ll all cry out and wish you ’d been wiser 1” 

He passed on into the house, and Kitty 
shrugged her shoulders as she tried to see the 
expression upon her sister’s face in the dim 
light. 


42 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

There was a little silence, and then Mysa 
asked, “ Did you say that Jeff was converted 
recently ?” 

“ Yes ; there was a great revival all over the 
Harbor, lots of preaching and praying and an 
awful sight of shouting and noise. And at last 
they shouted poor Jeff into it. It ’s all well 
enough, if he would only let other folks alone. 
But that’s Jeff’s fault, he’s always and for ever 
preaching at some one. Why can’t he let peo- 
ple think for themselves ?” 

“ I suppose he regards it as his duty. But I 
think myself a good and constant example is far 
better than too much preaching, as you call it. 
That is the way at Uncle Barton’s; no one tells 
you what you must do or ought to do, but they 
all live on so quietly, that is, all the older ones, 
in their beautiful Christian way, doing good as 
if they loved it and counted it an honor given 
them, making every one around them happy 
and comfortable — why, one can’t help thinking 
Christianity a lovely and pleasant thing! It 
makes all life so good and true and bright.” 

“ So that is how you got your religion ? Do 
you mean to say they never urged you, never 
set a minister at you nor told you how awfully 
wicked and careless you were?” inquired Kitty 
in a wondering tone. 

“Never! Their minister used to come in 


A fisherman’s daughter. 43 

as any other friend would, and he would ask us 
about our studies and our books as if he really 
were interested in us. And then somehow, we 
never could tell how it was, but somehow all 
our pleasant talk would come round to religion, 
just as if everything nice and pleasant led that 
way. And it seemed to us as if nothing was 
so grand and so beautiful as to be a Chris- 
tian.” 

“ Oh dear me,” cried Kitty. “ I can’t under- 
stand that at all !” 

“ But you could if you had lived among such 
Christians as I have. You would grow to admire 
and appreciate it all. Oh I wish Aunt Julie 
would stay here for a week or two !” Then she 
remembered how the “boys” would need their 
mother, and a voice seemed saying to her, 
“Why not you? If you are a Christian, why 
cannot you show them here at your home what 
such a life is? Is not that, indeed, the very 
work for which God has sent you back to your 
own home ?” 

Mysa sighed. Here she was now, right in 
the very midst of her work. Each daily routine 
must show that she was walking bravely and 
cheerily in the Christian path, doing the King’s 
bidding. Here was her own sister, the pretty, 
frivolous Kitty, full of gay spirits and eager for 
pleasure and excitement — how was she to help 


44 A fisherman’s daughter. 

her to a knowledge of that which is truest and 
most lasting of all joys? 

“ Well, let ’s go in, Mysie. We have talked 
long enough of such sober things. I Ve been 
asking ma to give a party in honor of your com- 
ing home, but she do n’t exactly seem to take. 
Maybe you can coax her into it. Do, if you can, 
Mysie, it will be such fun. I am awfully tired 
of the old humdrum way of living. I want to 
be stirred up a little.” 

Mysa laughed as she put her arm about her 
gay little sister. “We wont need a party to stir 
us up. We can have lovely times here, you and 
I together. Such rambles along the shore in 
this beautiful weather ! And perhaps after a 
while some of our cousins may come down, and 
we want to make the house pretty for them. 
You and I must take hold of that work.” 

Kitty seemed rather pleased with the pros- 
pect which her sister placed before her. 

“ I should like to see some of the city cousins,” 
she said. “I get tired to death of seeing the 
same faces week after week. They say there 
are some people at the hotel ; but they might as 
well be in the moon for all the good they do us. 
We get a look at them at church maybe, Sun- 
day morning, all so fine in their silks and satins, 
but they do n’t seem to think we folks are worth 
noticing !” 


A fisherman’s DAUGFITER. 45 

“ No,” said Mysa to herself, “the poor fisher- 
folks are probably very far beneath their notice. 
Ah, little Kitty, you must not get to longing 
after such things.” 

When she went up to bed she talked it over 
with her aunt Julie. “ Mysie’s room ” had been 
made as fresh and pretty as Kitty’s taste and 
means would allow. And she and her aunt now 
enjoyed its quiet for their last talk* together. 

“Yes, dear, I see that Kitty is overflowing 
with life and love of gayety. You must try to 
lead and guide without too much repressing 
her. You may have a great influence over her; 
for I can see that she is very fond of you.” 

“Oh, do you really think so. Aunt Julie? I 
am so glad ! But it is going to be hard ; every- 
thing is so different here, and I can’t see now 
just how I must do.” 

She told of Jeff, and of how he had evidently 
been greatly vexed with her for not attending 
the prayer-meeting with him that evening. 

“ Oh, Aunt Julie, do you think I ought to go 
there ? Is it my duty ? I never did enjoy the 
meetings, even as a child, and I know they 
would be — well, I feel as if I should n’t get any 
good from them now, they are so different from 
ours. The people are good enough, and earnest, 
but so unlearned and uncouth.” 


45 A FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 

“ Our Lord’s chosen apostles were unlearned 
and ignorant men, you know, Mysa; and very 
often in following the path of duty we have to 
encounter distasteful and unpleasant things. I 
would go, and try to have things better. Think 
it over calmly and carefully. Look at it on all 
sides and pray for grace to go aright. Never 
decide hastily against any apparent duty.” 

“I am afraid Jeff will make Kitty turn from 
good things altogether. He talks so harshly, 
and she just scoffs at him.” 

Then let it be your work to show them how 
generous and large-hearted a thing true Chris- 
tianity is. Help them to see the beauty of reli- 
gion — the kindness, the charity, the forbearance, 
the sympathy. Let the King’s daughter live so 
that all may see her Father’s royal love shining 
through every deed and word of her life.” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


47 


VI. 

Aunt Julie was gone. It seemed to Mysa 
that the last link was broken which had bound 
her to that dear and happy life of three years 
past. Oh why had she ever gone away from 
her home? Why had she been allowed to see 
and know better things only to have them taken 
from her again ? Could she ever be happy here, 
where everything was so different ? Could she 
ever live a true and noble life among such sur- 
roundings ? 

Thus she spoke within herself as she walked 
listlessly homeward from the village after watch- 
ing the stage rumble away, bearing Mrs. Barton, 
and leaving her desolate. She went down to 
the shore, away from the voices and the ques- 
tioning gaze of the villagers. 

She wanted to be alone — to let her heart 
utter its complaint without interruption. 

She found a quiet spot on the sand where 
she could look far out over the sea rippling and 
shining in the morning sunlight. White sails 
dotted the great expanse of water showing 
where the fishermen were at their task or 
where the pleasure-seekers were finding their 


48 A FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 

amusement. She wondered where her father’s 
boat was. She wondered why it was that her 
mother’s life and the life of her aunt were so 
different, they being sisters. How strangely 
things were ordered in this world ! 

Mysa sighed, and leaning on her elbows 
gazed dreamily out at sea. She sat under a 
ledge of rocks which shielded her from the 
rays of the morning sun. Dazzlingly the far-off 
white sails danced on the waves. She had al- 
most dreamed herself into a doze when the 
sound of voices startled her. She had not had 
time to decide whether she should sit still, or 
get up and show herself, when she heard her 
name spoken behind the rocks. 

“ Oh, I do n’t know what I may do, now that 
Mysie has come home. I hope we shall have a 
little more life and fun at our house.” 

Then you ’ll go and forget all about me 
while I ’m off at the fishing and you are having 
such good times !” 

“ Well, I should n’t wonder ! You do n’t sup- 
pose I shall sit and mope, George, because you 
are n’t here ?” and she laughed her clear, girlish 
laugh, which had so much music in it. 

“ I wish father had let me stay on at home 
a while longer. I hate fishing any way ! They 
might have let me go to school and college. 
Then—” 


A fisherman's daughter. 49 

“‘Then’ what?” the girl questioned, in her 
bright, saucy way. And Mysa knew exactly 
how the lips were curved with a smile, as she 
had seen them when Kitty felt her power. 

“ Well — then, maybe, Kitty, you ’d have been 
willing to wait for me ; for I ’d have been differ- 
ent from most of the fellows.” 

“ Yes, you would have been different, George, 
if you had had an education ; for that is what no 
one has down here. But do n’t you imagine 
that I shall wait, or not wait, for anybody! I 
must have freedom and a good time — that ’s all 
I want at present !” 

They moved slowly on, and the astonished 
sister could hear the murmur of their voices for 
some minutes. 

Could this be possible? Was Kitty — little 
Kitty — almost two years younger than Mysa 
herself, beginning to walk about with young 
men, and to let them talk to her in that way ? 

Yet Mysa knew that young man very well. 
At least she remembered him as an unusually 
interesting and intelligent boy in her old school- 
days at the Harbor. George Graham had al- 
ways seemed a little above the other boys in his 
studies and in the things which claimed his 
interest. Still, Kitty was very young yet, and 
she ought to be busy at home with lessons and 
household duties. 


4 


50 A fisherman’s daughter. 

Then Mysa recalled her words about things 
being “ different at home ” because she had come 
back. Well, perhaps they might be. That 
might be a part of her work down there — to 
make home a brighter and pleasanter place to 
the young sister. If so, she would do her best. 

But ah ! how dull the prospect lay before her, 
for one who had been cared for and made much 
of as she had been in her uncle’s home. She 
could not spare much time to think of herself, 
however. She was too anxious about her 
sister. 

It was noon when Mysa reached home, and 
time for dinner, which was not quite ready. 
Jeff, who was at home for a day, was grumbling 
at the delay. Kitty, regardless of his feelings, 
was arranging some pretty sprays of wild honey- 
suckle which she had brought in with her. 

“ Let Mysie do that, Kitty, and you come 
help here,” called the tired mother. 

“All right ! Ma thinks you have the latest 
style !” laughed Kitty, as she gave over her task 
to her sister. 

“ Oh, how lovely these are ! Where did you 
get them ?” asked Mysa, looking into the girl’s 
face, flushed and bright from her walk. 

“ Oh, George Graham met me, and we found 
them as we strolled along together,” she an- 
swered carelessly. “Yes, they are pretty. We 


A fisherman’s daughter. 51 

don’t often get anything of that sort down 
here.” 

She ran into the kitchen, and Mysa began to 
arrange the dainty pink blossoms, thinking how 
her sister’s face was like them in its fresh bloom 
and delicacy. 

“ I should think George Graham might find 
something better to do than dangling at a girl’s 
side along the shore at this time of day !” said 
Jeff, with a loud and stern voice. But if Kitty 
heard him she paid no heed, and went on with 
her work, singing gayly in low, sweet tones. 

Jeff, however, did not mean to be put off in 
that way. When they had seated themselves at 
the table and he had asked a blessing upon the 
meal, he again referred to the subject. 

‘"Did you hear what I said, Kitty, about 
George Graham?” 

“ If you ’ve got anything to say about George 
Graham, you ’d better say it to him, for I do n’t 
want to hear it !” she retorted, giving her atten- 
tion to little Ben’s plate and trying to teach him 
to hold his spoon in the right way. 

“ Little girls are sometimes made to hear 
things they do n’t want to ! And I say to you 
now — if mother can’t look after you a little more 
carefully — you ’d better stay away from fellows 
who have nothing to do but trawl along the 
shore in the height of the morning !” 


52 A fisherman’s daughter. 

What a pity that you had n’t some business 
of your own to attend to !” she replied, with an 
angry flash in her eye and a deepening color on 
her cheeks. 

Come, come, children ! Mysie will think 
she has returned to a quarrelsome family,” said 
the mother appealingly. 

And Mysa, sorry for her mother’s troubled 
face, broke in cheerfully, “No, don’t let us 
quarrel over it, please ! But I would like to ask 
about George Graham. Why, he must be a year 
or two older than I. We were together in some 
of our studies, I remember, in the old school- 
house. And I always thought he would make a 
smart man if he kept up his studies.” 

“Well, he has !” exclaimed Kitty, with ani- 
mation. “At least, he has done all he can for 
himself ; and they are too mean to let him go to 
college !” 

At this Jeff laid down his knife and fork 
and laughed. 

“To college ! Well, that is a good joke ! 
George Graham go to college ! when he can’t 
even haul a boat-load of fish !” 

Mysa saw a dangerous gleam in her sister’s 
eyes, and she spoke quickly to prevent her from 
answering. 

“Well, Jeff, perhaps that is the very reason. 
If he can’t be a good fisherman, he might be a 


A fisherman’s daughter. 53 

good student. I remember him as a very bright 
boy ; and I should think they ought to spare him 
from home if he really is anxious for a college 
education.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Redwood, in her calm way, 
“ I should think he might be spared. Hugh is a 
strong young fellow now, and could give his fa- 
ther all the help he needs. George is certainly a 
nice, steady lad, and always ready to do a kind 
deed for any one.” 

“Yes!” sneered Jeff; “he’d rather be hang- 
ing about the shore, doing little jobs for the wo- 
men-folks, than to be off with the boats, fishing, 
like a man !” 

“ Well, is n’t it a good thing for the ' women- 
folks ’ that some one is ready to lend them a 
helping hand when so many of the sons and fa- 
thers and husbands are off on the sea?” 

Mysa saw a grateful look come into Kitty’s 
face. And, as Jeff made no reply, she went on : 

“As for the college idea — why, I think it is 
always a good thing for any one to want an edu- 
cation. And there is no reason why one who 
wants it should not have it. I guess we will 
have a little school here at home. What do you 
think about it, Charley and baby Ben ? Maybe 
Kitty too would like to learn some things which 
are not taught in the village school.” 

“ I ’ll go to your school, instead of the town 


54 A fisherman’s daughter. 

school !” declared Charley, who had fallen quite 
in love with this new sister who had such a kind 
voice and such pleasant ways. 

“ Well, we will talk it over with mamma, and 
see what she thinks about it. Kitty, I wish we 
had a piano. That would be something you 
would like to learn !” 

“Yes; I should like that! I mean to coax 
papa for one.” 

Mysa smiled a little at thought of a piano in 
the modest little parlor of the fisherman’s house. 
Still she did not think that one would ever real- 
ly be there. And, for the present, she was satis- 
fied at having helped to bring a bit of calm and 
sunshine into the troubled atmosphere. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


55 


VII. 

How do you like your room, Mysie ?” asked 
Kitty that night, as they went up stairs together. 

“ Why, I am delighted with it, Kitty ; it is 
so neat and pretty. You were very kind to take 
so much pains. Come in,” she added, as they 
stood by the door — “ come in, and let us have a 
little chat.” • 

Kitty was quite ready to accept her sister’s 
invitation : and Mysa — although she felt half 
homesick, and longed to be alone, and to think 
of all the dear and pleasant things she missed — 
realized that she must use each opportunity for 
gaining Kitty’s affection, so that she might have 
an influence over her for good. They went in ; 
and Mysa was on the point of saying, “ Let us sit 
without a light, here by the window, it is so 
lovely,” when her sister exclaimed. 

Here ! I ’ll light the lamp ! Are you going 
to unpack now?” 

“ No ; I feel a little tired ; so we will save 
that for to-morrow. Besides, I want to talk to- 
night.” 

The two girls sat down, and Kitty was full 
of curiosity. What was it that Mysa wanted 
to talk about ? Her foolish little head was full of 


56 A fisherman’s daughter. 

romantic notions and half-formed ideas of what 
city girls did. She imagined that her sister had 
some pretty secret to confide or some sentimen- 
tal story to tell, and she was wholly surprised 
and disappointed when Mysa said simply, 

“ I want to talk about mother ; she looks so 
frail and tired ; and I think we ought to take the 
burden of the household cares off her shoulders. 
Can’t we make some plan — you and I — either 
to take things in turn or else both to work to- 
gether ?” 

“ I do n’t believe ma will let any one take her 
place,” Kitty replied, without much enthusiasm. 

“ Oh I think she will, if we show her we are 
in earnest and want to do our best. I am going 
to begin by getting up an hour earlier to-morrow 
morning, and seeing what I can find to do.” 

Kitty shrugged her shoulders. She did not 
like to get up early. Her sister smiled. 

“ Of course it wont always be easy ; but think 
of all the years that mother has done it ! It is 
time that she had a rest. We needn’t tell Jeff 
until we please, if he does n’t find us out !’ 

“ He will ! and he ’ll say we do n’t know any- 
thing, and he can’t eat his breakfast unless ma 
gets it. You see if he doesn’t.” 

“ Well, we will try to have things so nice that 
he can’t resist. I will see if I can make some 
muffins such as they have at Aunt Julie’s for 


. A fisherman’s daughter. 57 

breakfast. I asked aunt if I might get the recipe 
from cook ; and I believe I can make them.” 

“ Oh dear !” sighed the younger girl ; “ how 
nice it must be to have a cook to get your meals, 
and to be able to live as they do at Uncle Bar- 
ton’s !” 

‘‘ It is nice, Kitty : there is no use in deny- 
ing that. But the very nicest part of their living 
is n’t the having servants and plenty of time to 
enjoy themselves ; it is the way they care for one 
another, and never quarrel nor say unpleasant 
things, and are always polite, and have good 
times among themselves. And, Kitty, I mean to 
try my best to have things so at our home. 
Now if you will join in and help me, we can do 
it too !’ ’ 

Kitty did not seem specially delighted with 
the idea. 

“Oh I’d like things nice as well as any- 
body !” she answered ; “ but I do n’t believe we 
can have them so in our house. Jeff, you know, 
is queer — so queer ! — and worse than ever of 
late, because he wants to make, every one do as 
he does!” 

“ Well, we can talk things over pleasantly ; 
and even if we do not all agree, we need not 
quarrel. They don’t all think alike at Uncle 
Barton’s; but they discuss things in a pleasant 
way. You know I did not quarrel with Jeff last 


58 A fisherman’s daughter. 

night, though I did not agree with him nor do 
as he thought I ought to.” 

Oh well, Mysie, you are really good ! 
These sort of things seem to belong to you, 
and it ’s easier for you. But I ’m afraid I can’t 
help you much in such ways. I tell you what I 
would like !” cried the impulsive girl ; “ I ’d 
like to have the house all fixed up nice and 
pretty, with curtains and rugs and fancy things 
and a piano ! I like pretty things ; and I tell 
you, Mysie, they help me to be good ! it ’s a fact. 
I don’t feel half as careless and bad when I ’m 
among pretty things.” 

Her sister smiled, and after thinking a while, 
said, Well, Kitty, you help me and I will help 
you. I like to have things pretty about me too, 
and I learned how to do a great many things of 
that sort with the girls in the city. You and I 
will see what we can accomplish little by little. 
First of all, though, I am going to have, mother 
more comfortable. I asked Aunt Julie to send 
down a big easy-chair — a very pretty one too, 
Kitty — and I am going to give it to mother for 
her own special resting-place. We are all to 
understand that it is hers only. Some one else 
is always in the rocking-chair now, and mother 
never has a chance of dropping into it for a few 
minutes’ rest !” 

“ Well, if you manage to keep Jeff out of the 


A fisherman’s daughter. " 59 

new chair, you 11 do wonders ! that 's all I can 
say about it. But I hope you may, for I do 
think you ’re real good, Mysie ! I think it was 
awfully good of you to come back here to live 
at all, when you might have stayed there ! and 
I ’m so glad you did come. 1 11 try and help 
you, but I ’m not a bit like you, Mysie.” 

“ Never mind. If you are glad to have me 
back and are willing to help me, we shall get on 
nicely, I feel sure. Two working together can 
accomplish a great deal, I know. Now we must 
get to bed, for you know I am to be up early in 
the morning.” 

“ Well, I wont promise about that,” said 
Kitty, laughing, yet half ashamed already of a 
thing to which she had not previously given a 
thought, namely, the fact that her mother did 
the work of the household, while she sought 
her own pleasure and ease. It is far too often 
the case with girls. They become accustomed 
to look upon the mother as the worker and care- 
taker for all. They are absorbed in thoughts 
and plans for themselves, and do not notice how 
many burdens fall hourly upon the patient, un- 
complaining mother. Look to it, girls, that at 
some future day a painful regret may not make 
your hearts ache ! 

Mysa felt fully repaid for putting aside her 
selfish longings and asking Kitty to come in 


6o 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


and talk with her. She thought over all that 
had been said while she brushed her hair and 
prepared for bed. 

Of one thing she felt quite sure : Kitty was 
glad to have her at home. She had both said it 
and shown it in her actions. “ When you might 
have stayed on there,” Kitty had said. Mysa 
smiled as she thought how feebly that expressed 
it. When she “ might have stayed ” ! Rather, 
when they had longed for her and pleaded with 
her to stay. 

Well, it does not matter; my work is here, 
and I have come to do it,” she said to herself. 
And she felt already in her hands the threads 
from here and there which were to weave the 
first simple outline of her work. She felt strong- 
er, braver, more willing, and more trustful. Her 
grand plans seemed to have resolved themselves 
into this single thought: whatsoever strands 
the Father placed across her path she must 
take up and weave into her work. With their 
color or texture she was not to vex herself. If 
they were dull, then perhaps the Father had 
purposely sent them to be touched by the shine 
of her own faith and love. If they were coarse, 
then possibly He had meant them to be refined 
through her own purity of purpose and tender- 
ness of handling. Of the complete pattern only 
the Father himself knew. But was not that 


A fisherman’s daughter. 6l 

enough? Was not he the King and she his 
daughter ? 

So Mysa forgot to ponder over her ov/n lost 
joys, and thought rather of the life which lay 
before her. She fell asleep while thinking and 
planning for Kitty, the wild, wayward sister, so 
bright, with so much of good in her, yet that 
good only peeping out shyly, now and then, to 
be caught at by faithful, watchful hands of love ! 

And when she awoke there was a wondrous 
greeting of beauty for Mysa over all the ocean 
and the winding shore. The radiance of sunrise 
was upon the world. The gray sea, as far out 
as her eye could follow it, sparkled and smiled 
as though no dream of surging billows or deadly 
storms lay beneath that gleaming surface. The 
shore, too, had the joy of a new day upon it. 
The curving sands glistened as the bright wa- 
ters washed over and ran from them in tireless 
play, and the dark rocks here and there were 
alive with many birds carolling their morning 
songs of joy. 

Breathing in the sweet sea air, she hastened 
to be dressed, and went down to find her mo- 
ther. That busy little woman was moving 
briskly about the kitchen and the adjoining 
room. 

“ Good morning, mother. You make us all 
ashamed of our laziness! I did mean to be 


62 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


down here earlier, but everything is so lovely 
this morning I could not resist stopping to look 
out of my window ! I never knew, I think, what 
a beautiful place my home is !” 

“ Oh, my child, I am so glad you like it ! It 
is pretty enough to me, but I feared that you 
might think of it as Kitty does.” 

“ Do n’t fear for me, mother, any longer ! 
But I came down to help you. What can I do ? 
Oh, I see.” 

And with quick, deft fingers she began to 
put the “ living-room ” in order. 

“Why, Mysie, you needn’t do that. I’ll 
have plenty of time,” expostulated the gentle 
mother, feeling in some way as if Mysa were 
company. 

“ Well, I mean that you shall have plenty of 
time — to rest. As soon as you will trust me, I 
am going to get breakfast myself. Why, I am 
better able to do it than you are. We were talk- 
ing about it last night, Kitty and .1, and we de- 
cided that you must not do so much.” 

“Kitty?” repeated Mrs. Redwood, in a tone 
of mild surprise. 

“Well, yes. I am sure that Kitty agreed 
with me. But you see, mother, you have spoiled 
us all by doing everything for us. Now we 
would like to do a little in our turn, and let you 
get rested, so that you will feel like running up 


A fisherman’s daughter. 63 

to stay a few days with Aunt Julie now and 
then.” 

Mysa put it mildly. She had fully resolved 
in her own mind on a few weeks rather than a 
few days. And all the time they were talking 
both mother and daughter were busy; so that 
presently when Kitty, following a new impulse, 
entered the room a full-half hour earlier than 
usual, she found breakfast ready and the room 
wearing a fresh, bright look which pleased her 
greatly. 

Determined to do her part, she rushed up 
stairs again to hurry the little ones, calling out 
as she went, “ Do n’t wait, mother ; you and 
Mysie have your breakfast, and I ’ll dress 
Ben !” At which the astonished mother could 
not suppress an exclamation of delight. 

“Why, what has come over Kitty? Oh, 
Mysie, if you can do anything good for her, I 
shall be so thankful !” 

“ I hope I can, mother,” replied Mysa, draw- 
ing her mother’s chair to the table, and, after 
both were helped, not forgetting to return the 
things to the fire to keep warm for Kitty. 

Baby Ben would not, under ordinary circum- 
stances, have allowed Kitty to wash and dress 
him. But this .morning she seemed so gentle, 
and told such wonderful stories of the “new 
sister” down stairs, that he was very easily 


64 A fisherman’s daughter. 

managed. When they went down, a little later 
than Charley, neither mother nor Mysa neg- 
lected the word of praise which was of so much 
value to Kitty. 

“ Thank you, Kitty ! How quick you have 
been ! And how well you have fixed his hair !” 

“ I think our Kitty has a talent for doing 
things prettily. She looks as bright and fresh 
as a blossom herself !” 

And Kitty, listening to these kind words, 
began to feel that she could be of some use in 
the world if she chose. It is always a good 
thing for a girl to realize that. 

So Mysa’s first little effort ended in a pleasant 
breakfast, over which they lingered to talk of 
her plan for teaching. Jeff had, as usual, taken 
his meal earlier, and had gone off to the daily 
'fishing. 





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A Fisherman’s Daughter. Page 65 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


65 


VIII. 

Jack Redwood had returned from the deep- 
sea fishing, and had greeted his daughter Mysa 
with a sailor’s heartiness and with some pride 
when he saw into what a gentle and graceful 
young woman she had grown. For the rough- 
est seaman has, oftentimes, the highest apprecia- 
tion of what is gentle and refined. 

Redwood himself was a good specimen of a 
hardy, toil - roughened fisherman — a kind hus- 
band and father, an honest man, and a Christian : 
“One of whom no daughter need be ashamed,’’ 
said Mysa to herself, suppressing a sigh as the 
thought crossed her mind of Uncle Barton with 
his large culture and intelligent conversation. 
But all could not be alike in this strange world ; 
and what set of men was there of whom stories 
of nobler and braver deeds were told than of 
these simple, unlettered fishermen ? 

Perhaps nothing in his home-coming had 
pleased Mr. Redwood more than the new way in 
which he saw his wife treated daily by her 
children. For Mysa’s example in this respect 
had worked with more power than any words 
upon the feelings of the others. Even Jeff, 
5 


C6 A fisherman's daughter. 

self-absorbed as he was, never so far forgot the 
proprieties as to seat himself in that pretty 
basket-work rocker which had arrived for Mrs. 
Redwood, and which Mysa openly declared was 
to be used by mother only. 

John Redwood noticed with surprise the 
many little cares that were quietly taken from 
his wife’s hands, the many tiresome steps that 
she was daily spared, and the many little acts 
of courtesy which were becoming more and 
more familiar to the younger children as they 
followed the example and guidance of the sister 
whom they admired and loved as well. 

‘‘That’s right! that’s right!” the fisherman 
would exclaim with hearty approval. “ That ’s 
as it should be ! Mother has steered you all 
safe beyond the bar; she has looked out for 
squalls ahead, and furled sails for every one of 
you; and now it’s time that you should let 
her take her ease, and you take hold and help. 
Mysie lass, you have done just the right 
thing !” 

It was pleasant to Mysa to hear that. In- 
deed those summer days by the sea held many 
pleasant things for her as she strove to live a 
high and helpful life, “in His name.” To be 
sure there were dark days now and then ; there 
always must be to all true workers. Kitty 
would sometimes, notwithstanding all her sis- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 67 

ter’s care and forethought, be at the neighbors’ 
too much. She had spells of restlessness and 
rebellion, when she would scoff at Mysa’s calm 
way of taking all things for the best. She 
would declare that she “ could not endure such a 
humdrum life, and would not!” 

Then poor Mysa, in her fear for her sister, 
would devise a day’s diversion or an evening’s 
amusement in some way, either by asking com- 
pany or by going herself with Kitty and some 
of her friends for a sailing excursion. That 
which had kept Kitty most busy and contented 
of late had been the fitting up of the rooms at 
home in various ways. She and Mysa had hung 
all the principal windows with soft white cur- 
tains, pretty yet inexpensive, and caught back 
with dainty ribbons. 

Aunt Julie’s watchful generosity had enabled 
Mysa to do many such things. Then came the 
cousins’ gift to Mysa of a neat bookcase for her 
books. And this gave such a different look to 
the humble little parlor that Miss Kitty tossed 
her head and thought, “There’s no fisherman’s 
house with anything like that in it 1” And she 
was right ; there was none. 

The summer season had brought the usual 
number of summer visitors to the Harbor, and 
rather more than the usual number of transient 
young men, or men without families, who went 


68 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


there for the fishing. The boarding-houses 
were of the old-fashioned quiet kind, situated at 
the western end of the Harbor, though there 
was, of course, a village “hotel,” at which a 
very different class of people put up. 

Mysa had been striving in every way to 
make the children’s lessons pleasant to them, 
and to interest Kitty in more advanced studies 
than she could pursue at the village school. On 
bright warm days she would take them to the 
rocks and hear the lessons there, giving them 
something specially new and bright in the way 
of instruction, and perhaps ending all with a 
little picnic-lunch. 

The children thought these occasions de- 
lightful, and though to Kitty they were far 
pleasanter than anything she had known during 
Mysa’s absence, she was still the same restless, 
fretful, longing creature that the summer-time 
specially found her. She had such glimpses 
during that season of all that strange, mysteri- 
ous life out in the gay world of society, that her 
eager young heart could not, or would not, ac- 
cept its own calmer, simpler lot without rebel- 
lious comparison and complaint. Mysa grew 
very anxious about her sister, all the more so 
for an incident which occurred one day during 
the midsummer. 

Mysa always preferred to go to the postoffice 


A fisherman’s daughter. 69 

for her own mail rather than to send Charley, 
and Jeff rarely troubled himself with such tri- 
fles. Mysa received most of the mail which 
came for the Redwood household. Several 
times Kitty had said, 

“Hadn’t I better stop for the mail, Mysie ?” 
when she was going out. And her sister had 
answered, 

“ No, Kitty ; better wait and let two of us go 
together. It is such a public place, and there 
are always so many men standing about — not 
always gentlemen, either — that it really is not 
pleasant for a lady or a girl to go there alone.” 

Kitty always laughed on receiving this reply, 
but did not rebel, and she and Mysa often went 
together to the postoflice, or Mysa took Charley ; 
or, on one or two rare occasions, she had per- 
suaded her mother to accompany her. That 
suited Mysa best of all. She was only a girl yet, 
and she liked to feel the guarding presence of 
an older woman at her side. Alas for Kitty 
that she did not like the same ! Kitty was more 
of the fashion of some modern girls, who like to 
get away from the mother-eye, whispering to- 
gether in girlish conclave. These are they who 
have secrets from their mothers, and they who 
also will have secrets from their husbands one 
day ; and ah ! then will come the sorrow and bit- 
terness of their lives ! Oh let the girls live as 


70 A fisherman's daughter. 

long as they may in the pure atmosphere of the 
mother presence, gathering counsel and wisdom 
for future needs ! 

This afternoon Mysa had Charley with her. 
She had not been able to find Kitty nor to hear 
where she had gone. 

“ Maybe she 's gone to see Jeff’s new boat,” 
suggested Charley. “Jeff said it looked jolly. 
I wish I could go see it.” 

“So you may. You and I v^^ill go; or per- 
haps we can all go together, mamma and all. 
Wouldn’t that be pleasant?” He certainly 
thought it would. 

Mysa rather hoped that her wayward sister 
had gone to see Jeff’s boat There at least she 
would not be likely to meet any except the fish- 
ermen and the fisher-lads in whose constant 
companionship she had been brought up. 

But as they drew near the postoffice Charley 
said, “ There ’s Kitty — see ? — over there, Mysie, 
talking to that tall gentleman ! My ! a’ n’t he a 
dude !” 

“Hush, Charley. Don’t be rude, and don’t 
say ‘ a’ n’t,’ ” said Mysa, v/ith a gentle reproof. 
And while she spoke so mildly she looked with 
a searching gaze at the young man who stood 
by her sister’s side. 

He was evidently one of the boarders at the 
“West End” of the shore; certainly a man not 


A fisherman’s daughter. 71 

in Kitty’s station of life, tlie elder girl thought, 
with a flash of resentment in her eyes. ^ “ How 
dare he come and trifle with a silly fisherman’s 
daughter just because she has a pretty face !” 

At that moment Kitty caught sight of her 
sister. She looked very much embarrassed and 
half frightened for an instant ; then, “ Why, 
here ’s Mysie !” she exclaimed, trying to look as 
if it were a pleasant surprise. “ Here ’s a letter 
for you, Mysie,” she added as her sister drew 
near. 

Mysa did not go near enough to take the 
offered letter, but quite near enough to be heard 
as she said in calm, distinct tones, “ Thank you, 
Kitty; but I would rather miss the letter than 
to have you come here alone. Wont you come 
with Charley and me for a walk ?” 

There was that in Mysa’s quiet, dignified 
way of speaking which made Kitty’s heart throb 
with pride, and which also made her feel that 
she had better go with her. 

She glanced up at the young man — who had 
removed his hat as Mysa drew near and stood 
now holding it in his hand — smiled, and said, 
“ Good afternoon !” with a coquettish nod of her 
head. 

“ Good afternoon !” he responded with a dou- 
ble bow and a respectful look at Mysa, who how- 
ever paid not the slightest attention to him, but 


72 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


walked on, chatting with Kitty about the way 
they should go. 

The young man watched the little party as 
long as they could be seen ; then, turning away, 
he switched the air with his cane impatiently. 

“ Serves me right ! But whew ! what a 
haughty contempt, what a calm, ladylike thrust ! 
She did not want the little sister to come here 
unprotected, for fear of just such gentlemanly- 
looking knaves as I am ! And she is right too 
undoubtedly. Well, I ’ll go back to my piazza 
and smoke while I think of my shortcomings. 
Ah, the scorn of her eyes burns me yet !” 

He laughed a cynical laugh, which had in it 
no mirth nor music. 

“ I wish I might knov/ her,” he added as he 
walked on past the fishermen’s homes and the 
more practical part of the shore. “The other 
is only a pretty, silly child ; this one is like a 
breath of fresh, keen, fragrant air.” 

“ Too pure to blow your way, though,” spoke 
the accusing spirit within him as he reached the 
new boarding-house, where the arrivals were 
increasing in numbers daily. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


73 


IX. 

To Kitty’s great relief, as they walked on 
together her sister did not say one word about 
the young man in whose company she had been 
found. She talked, it seemed, of everything 
else but of that which was uppermost in each 
mind. 

Even Charley rather wondered and was 
somev/hat disappointed at hearing nothing at 
all with regard to that fashionable young man 
to whom he had given the title of “ dude.” 

But something else occurred which drew his 
attention completely from that subject. 

Capt. Trawley, who was the proprietor of 
the new boarding-house — “Seashore Home” 
he called it, and it was well named — passed our 
young friends in his large “ dog-cart,” with a 
few ladies, for whose timid nerves and occa- 
sional frights h5 had a lenient and watchful 
regard. 

As some one recognized Mysa, the captain 
was asked to stop his horses, which he did, and 
taking off his broad-brimmed hat, he leaned his 
gray head and bronzed face out of the carriage 
and called, “ Good afternoon, Miss Mysie. The 
ladies have asked me to stop ; they wish to in- 


74 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


quire about your little school. Would you mind 
stepping a trifle closer?” 

Unhesitatingly Mysa stepped to the side of 
the conveyance, and encountered several pairs 
of kind, womanly eyes. 

The captain introduced her in due form, and 
then one of the ladies said, “ Do you know. Miss 
Redwood, that one of us played the spy the 
other day when you held your little class under 
the rocks ? I will not tell which lady it was, but 
I hope you will forgive her. And we want to 
ask you if you would be willing to come to the 
boarding-house for an hour or two hours each 
day, and let our little ones read and have light 
study with you. They forget so much during 
the long vacations, and we were sp pleased with 
your manner of interesting the children. You 
will come, wont you?” 

“ Thank you ; I shall be very glad to come. 
At what time?” 

They arranged the time, and then one of the 
ladies asked if Miss Redwood could give music 
lessons. 

^‘Oh yes.” (“Thanks to Aunt and Uncle 
Barton !” she added to herself.) So the ladies 
talked and planned with Mysa, while Capt. Traw- 
ley chatted pleasantly with Charley. 

“ Is this young lady your sister, Miss Red- 
wood ? She looks like you.” 


A fisherman's daughter. 75 

“Yes; my sister Kitty, ladies," said Mysa, 
introducing her with quiet grace, and noting 
with pleasure how prettily Kitty acknowledged 
the introduction without appearing either for- 
ward or flustered. “ But then — that man — how 
dare he?" she thought indignantly, referring 
to Kitty’s companion of a few moments before, 
and knowing quite well — as perhaps Kitty did 
not know — that no true gentleman would ever 
stand and talk to any girl in that way, more 
especially to a girl who was not upon his ov/n 
level in “ society." “ Kitty has the instincts of 
a true lady, and she shall not be hurt by any 
such thoughtless action !" said the brave elder 
sister, adding reverently in spirit a prayer for 
grace and help, without which no good resolve 
is of any use. 

“ Well, captain, our little arrangements are 
completed, I believe ; so we will not detain you 
any longer. We may look for you to-morrow at 
eleven, then. Miss Redv/ood ?" 

“Yes, I will be there promptly," replied My- 
sa. And with pleasant good-bys the ladies were 
driven on, while our own little party walked 
with quickened steps, as people do when they 
have had some happy surprise. 

“ Is n’t it awfully jolly !" exclaimed Kitty. 

All her face was aglow with pleasure, and as 
Mysa looked at her she thought her pretty 


76 A fisherman’s daughter. 

enough to have dropped pearls from her lips, as 
the old fairy story says, rather than those slang 
words which our girls use so freely in these 
days. 

Yet Mysa was backward about reproving her 
sister for such things just yet. She saw greater 
things about which she felt she could not re- 
main quiet, because she had a work to do “in 
His name.” 

“Yes, Kitty, I am very glad. It will give 
me just the start which I need to succeed as a 
teacher.” 

“I don’t care for the teacher part of it so 
much, but don’t you see, it will give you a 
chance to get acquainted with lots of stylish 
folks who are staying at the hotels?” 

A sudden bright color overspread the girl’s 
face as she hesitated and half blundered into 
another word than “ folks,” glancing slyly at her 
sister to see if she were probably thinking of 
the same thing. 

But Mysa’s face was quiet and thoughtful. 

“ I wonder what day it was they heard you, 
Mysie?” said Charley. “We had our school 
under the rocks two or three times.” 

“I shouldn’t wonder, Charley, if it was the 
day you spoke your poem so nicely about ‘ Paul 
Revere’s Ride.’ Don’t you remember?” 

“Oh yes.” 


A fisherman's daughter. 77 

He felt quite proud to remember it. 

“ And how will I have my lessons now if you 
are going away?” he asked, looking a little trou- 
bled, for he had begun to enjoy his studies with 
Mysa. 

“ Well, I will hear your lessons before I go, 
and leave you one or two examples to work out 
by yourself while I am gone. Then when I 
come back we can finish. You may write or 
read to me, or else we can take some little jour- 
neys across the maps, and learn something about 
the different countries and people in the world.” 

Somehow Charley felt that all would come 
right for him after that, and he was very happy. 

He ran whistling out, eager to be the first 
one to proclaim the good news to mamma and 
‘‘ Baby Ben.” 

Kitty hoped that her transgression — as she 
knew her sister would regard it, since she had 
distinctly said she did not wish Kitty to go for 
her letters — would pass without further remark. 
But Mysa only v/aited for the right time. It 
was something between her and Kitty only, and 
she could wait patiently until they were alone 
together. 

Her opportunity came that evening after tea. 

Come, Kitty, let us have a little ramble ; it 
is such a lovely sunset !” she said. 

And though Charley received permission to 


78 A fisherman's daughter. 

go with them, he was no interruption to their 
talk, for he ran on ahead, occupying himself with 
‘‘skipping stones.” 

After puzzling for some time how to begin, 
Mysa silently prayed for grace to speak in the 
right way, and then said, “ Kitty, I want to ask 
you something. It is not out of curiosity I ask : 
it is only for your own good. Are you acquaint- 
ed with that young man who stood by you on 
the postoffice steps this afternoon ?” 

A quick color flashed into Kitty’s cheeks. 
She looked half ashamed and half defiant. 

“ Well — no ; I can’t say I ’m acquainted ex- 
actly : at least, I was n’t before this afternoon ! 
But he ’s a very pleasant gentleman — ” 

“ Excuse me, Kitty, but he is not a true gen- 
tleman ! Not if he spoke to you so, without 
being first properly made acquainted with you. 
I wish you would tell me just how it was. Wont 
you?” 

Kitty hesitated ; and Mysa saw her lips com- 
pressed and her head upraised, as if she denied 
any one’s right to question her. 

“You know, Kitty, that I love you; and I 
want to be proud of you, and to feel that you un- 
derstand what it is to be a true lady. I want to 
be glad — and not ashamed — to have my friends 
meet you when they come here to see me.” 

That seemed to put it in a different light 


A fisherman’s daughter. 79 

to Kitty. Her face cleared. She smiled and 
said, 

“ Well, to be honest, Mysie, I never saw the 
young man before to-day. He was standing 
there as I got the letters ; and, as I glanced up, 
he smiled and said, ‘You were more successful 
than I was ’ — or something of that sort. And — 
well, I laughed, and said, ‘ Did n’t you get any ?’ 
and then he went on talking — and — I can’t 
help it, Mysie ; I do think he was very nice and 
handsome ; and I should call him a gentleman.” 

“ But, Kitty dear, no gentleman ever speaks 
so to a lady whom he does not know ! Why, it 
is a very rude thing to do ; and it shows that he 
does not regard you as a true lady, or else he 
thinks you are ignorant of the ways of society. 
For he knows very well that a lady would pay 
no attention to any such remark made by a 
stranger. We can’t judge by people’s looks, Kit- 
ty. A man may seem to be a gentleman, and 
yet be a villain. So, in society, we only converse 
with those whom we know.” 

“ Well, you see, I was n’t brought up in ‘ so- 
ciety’ ! and so I do n’t know those things. I 
have to judge for myself. If a man is handsome 
and acts politely and lives at the big hotel, 
why, of course, I take him to be a gentleman !” 

Mysa sighed. It was not easy to convince 
Kitty of her error. It was not easy to picture to 


8o A fisherman’s daughter. 

her imagination the true gentleman — kind, 
courteous and thoughtful, unobtrusive, yet ever 
ready to offer his services in cases of need. 

“ I wish you could see your cousins Gerald 
and Paul ! That would show you what I want 
you to understand and appreciate. Why, Kitty,” 
she added, as if struck with a new, convincing 
argument, “I don’t believe George Graham 
would do such a thing ! Do you ?” 

A pleased look gleamed across the girl’s face. 

“Well, no; I don’t suppose he would. He 
is n’t that kind. He ’s too — too — ” 

“ He is too much of a gentleman, I think.” 
said Mysa. “ And I wish he would come in to 
spend an evening with us sometimes I would 
like to see if he is at all like what he used to be.” 

It was a wise thought of Mysa’s. It changed 
the current of conversation ; and, although she 
had not secured any promise from Kitty, nor any 
acknowledgment of her error, still the elder sis- 
ter felt that she had not spoken in vain. 


A fisherman's daughter. 


8i 


X. 

As Mysa walked to the “ Seashore Home ” 
for her pupils, the next morning, her thoughts 
were very busy with plans for enlarging and 
brightening Kitty’s home-life. And before she 
had walked far, one person who had been in her 
thoughts met her ; and Mysa was well pleased to 
see him. 

“ Why, George, I am glad to meet you, since 
you will not come to visit your old schoolmate,” 
she said, giving her hand and smiling pleas- 
antly. 

A flush of pleasure passed over George Gra- 
ham’s bronzed face as this quiet, refined young 
lady greeted him thus cordiall5A 

‘‘ I should have been very glad indeed to call 
and see you, Miss Mysa, only — well, I thought 
you had forgotten your old friends down here. 
You have been away so long.” 

“ No, indeed, I have not forgotten. I have 
heard Kitty speak of you several times ; and I 
felt that I would like to hear what you were 
doing, and if you were keeping up any of the 
studies you were so fond of.” 

Ah ! here was a true woman who felt an in- 
terest in him and in his pursuits ! It stirred the 
6 


82 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

young man’s better nature. And he told her 
how he had longed for a higher education ; but 
the folks at home thought it foolish, and so he 
had become discouraged. 

It was not long, either, before he told her 
how he cared for Kitty. 

I know she is only a child,” he said ; but if 
she would wait for me, I could do most any- 
thing !” 

No, George, that would not be right ! I 
mean that it would not be right to exact any 
promise from such a mere child. Though she 
seems old for her years, she is yet too young to 
know her own mind. But do you go on bravely, 
and show what you can do — for yourself ; and 
give her too an opportunity to improve her 
own life, and to see what is noblest and best in 
others.” 

In this way Mysa talked until they had ar- 
rived at the hotel grounds. And George Graham 
left her side a stronger, truer man for her kind 
and encouraging words. 

Ah how many young men might be strength- 
ened and helped to live purer lives, if girls 
would only be the friends God meant them to 
be ! if they would put away their own vanity — 
not uttering idle and frivolous words, but speak- 
ing earnest and helpful things ! How different 
all life might have been for this young man and 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


83 


for Kitty Redwood if Mysa had frittered away 
that half-hour in harmless but meaningless chat- 
ter, such as girls too often use when in the com- 
pany of young men ! 

Gerald and Paul had written that they were 
coming to the Harbor for a little visit ; and now 
Mysa’s busy brain was full of plans for George 
Graham’s good, in which these generous cousins 
were to help her, as she knew they would. It 
would not be long, now, before they would ar- 
rive. How her heart gladdened as she thought 
of it! No one, she imagined, could ever be to 
her quite that which these young cousins had 
been. They had given her such a chivalrous, 
such an untiring devotion ! They had not con- 
sidered any demand too great : to serve her had 
seemed ever a pleasure and not a trouble to 
them. There had been a light of old-time ro- 
mance about it all : to these young men, who 
had never before had the daily companionship 
of a loving and generous sister, and to the 
young woman, who had no idea of what brother- 
hood was in the sweet home meaning of that 
word. No wonder that her face brightened and 
her step quickened as she thought of all that the 
coming of these cousins might mean to her and 
her plans ! 

]\Iysa had become acquainted with several 


84 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


young ladies of about her own age, sisters or 
other relatives of the little ones whom she was 
teaching, and to whom she was reading in such 
ways as caused these same little ones to look for- 
ward eagerly to her coming. As she went in 
this morning she met one of these young ladies 
on the piazza, who exclaimed, 

“ Oh, Miss Redwood, what a thorough sun- 
beam you are ! It does one good just to look at 
you day after day ! Do n’t you ever get in the 
dumps ? Do n’t you ever fret and fume ?” 

“You see me at my best. Miss Greshom, for 
certainly I should not come to my little pupils 
in any frame of mind but a happy and cheery 
one. That would never do !” 

“ I wish we all had such control over our 
feelings,” said another voice ; and Jack, Miss 
Greshom’s brother, bowed respectfully. 

Mysa laughed, nodding a passing good- 
morning and good-by, and went on to her little 
scholars. “ I do not deserve one bit of credit for 
my happy face this morning,” said Mysa to her- 
self. Yet she could not help feeling glad that 
these young people approved of her — this 
brother and sister who had seen so much of 
society, and who probably knew many noble 
characters. 

How pleasant her work seemed to her that 
morning ! Indeed, God had given her far better 


A fisherman’s daughter. 85 

than she had asked. She had not known the 
best way. God was leading her towards her 
highest duties by ways of his own. The cross 
\yas always there, but it would never become 
heavier than she could bear. She felt a glad 
child at heart that morning. She wondered 
why it was that her young sister Kitty, a mere 
girl, had so far outgrown her childhood ; why 
she was so far beyond Mysa herself in thoughts 
and longings and ways that belong properly to 
early womanhood. 

If she and Kitty could only work together 
for the great King, how pleasant it would be ! 
If only she could teach her impulsive young 
sister to care for this simple daily work! Or 
Jeff — even Jeff — “And he ought to be interested 
because he is a Christian 1” she added, in her 
simple-hearted way. 

Thus in her daily labors v/ere mingled lov- 
ing thoughts and longings for the dear ones at 
home, plans which were to bring help and 
pleasure to them, and hopes higher and purer 
than any which they ever entertained for them- 
selves. She said to herself that she would have 
a long, unrestrained talk with Kitty, try to get 
her to speak freely and confide in her; while 
she herself would try to show her what a girl’s 
life ought to be, and how much there was yet to 
learn and to accomplish. 


86 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


Her little brother Charley met her on her 
way home, as he often did in the hope that 
Mysa^ would sit under the rocks by the shore 
and teach him there. This morning his face 
was full of excitement. In a place like Graves’ 
Harbor any little piece of news is greedily 
seized and passed around from house to house. 
Even the children catch the thrill of excite- 
ment, and rush in and out, eager to tell what 
they know or what they hear from others. 

“ Well, Charley boy, what have you to tell 
me?” she asked in her gay, bright manner, as 
the little fellow slipped his hand into his sister’s 
and trotted along by her side on the noiseless 
sand. 

‘‘Oh, lots!” he cried, in his quick, boyish 
way. “ ’Tonio is going out with his schooner to- 
night, and — and — ” pausing to find breath, 
“and papa don’t — papa doesnt^' he corrected 
himself in accordance with his new teacher’s in- 
struction — “ think he ’s got enough — ” 

“ Charley boy ?” 

“Doesn’t think he has boys enough with 
him 1” 

It was one of the strange peculiarities of the 
Harbor that the word “ boys ” was used to indi- 
cate, indiscriminately, “boys proper” — that is, 
those who had not yet reached the “ coming of 
age” period — and gray-haired old sailors, over 


A fisherman’s daughter. 87 

whom many of life’s stormiest billows had al- 
ready rolled. 

“ Boys enough for what, dear?” asked Mysa, 
who, in these last years, had forgotten a good 
deal of the familiar sea-talk. 

“For the dory and the trawling, do n’t you 
know? ’Tonio’s too old, papa says, and he 
wanted Jeff to go ; but Jeff would n’t, and — ” 

“ Who wanted Jeff to go, dear, papa or Capt. 
Antonio ?” 

“ Both of ’em, I ’spect. Papa did, anyway ; 
and he coaxed Jeff a good deal. But Jeff said 
he had ‘other fish to fry I don’t know what he 
meant by that. So papa is going his own self !” 

“Papa going? Why he has only just come 
home from a long voyage, Charley !” said Mysa, 
in surprise and doubt. 

“ I know ; but he ’s going again with Capt. 
’Tonio ! he says so ! He says it ’s mean to let an 
old friend go alone, when — when — ” the child 
seemed puzzled to recollect, and Mysa wondered 
at his sober little face as he tried to think. 

“ When what, Charley boy ; can’t you re- 
member ?” 

“ No. It was something about ‘ when he is 
so near to crossing the bar,’ or like that. But I 
do n’t see what papa meant. Of course he ’ll 
cross the bar; they always do.” 

As the little fellow wandered on, losing the 


88 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


first sparkle of his news in its vague uncertainty 
of particulars, Mysa caught a glimpse of the 
truth. Old Capt. Antonio had been a friend of 
her father’s ever since she could remember. 
She had dim remembrances of a time when he 
first came to Graves’ Harbor, not in a proper and 
dignified way, but with slight regard for cere- 
mony; clinging to a broken spar, dripping and 
exhausted, yet full of a cheery hope which 
would not be quenched. “ Jack Redwood knows 
a good sailor when he sees one !” her father had 
announced on that occasion, and he had been 
friend and admirer of the queer old foreign 
“ captain ” from that time. He was never 
known otherwise than as “Capt. Antonio.” 
He had been living rather quietly of late, and 
she wondered what freak of his old age was 
taking him off on a voyage which her father 
evidently considered dangerous. 

While she wondered, her little brother had 
recovered his equanimity, and now proceeded to 
announce his second item of news. 

“ And oh, Mysie, there ’s going to be a big 
ball at the hotel to-night, and Kitty says she ’s 
going! Couldn’t we go and look in the win- 
dows ? J ust on the piazza, you know. It ’s such 
fun !” 

“How do you know?”asl^ed his astonished 
sister. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 89 

“ ’Cause once Kitty took me to see when she 
was n’t going inside like she is now, you know. 
Please, Mysie !” 

“ Well, Charley, we must have our lessons 
now. Afterward we can talk of other things.*’ 

But her thoughts were confused. She could 
not give her mind freely to her teaching. Was 
her young sister really going among the miscel- 
laneous crowd that would gather at the village 
hotel at such a time? Would mother allow it? 
Or had the wayward girl only suggested it by 
way of teasing the others and arousing their 
curiosity? She could not tell. Yet she could 
not question Charlie. She must wait patiently 
until the right moment came. 


90 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XI. 

As they walked home Mysa diverted her lit- 
tle brother’s thoughts by telling him of a pleas- 
ant picnic which she had planned for the city 
cousins, in preparation for which he should be 
her chief helper. 

On reaching home they found there a con- 
fused state of affairs. Fisherman Redwood was 
overhauling his sea-chest, neighboring fisher- 
men were coming and going with friendly words 
and deeds, and occasionally an “ auld wife,” as 
the Scotch say, went in with words of sympathy 
for the frail little helpmeet whose trembling 
hands had so often prepared her husband for a 
voyage to the deep-sea fishing-grounds. 

There were tears in her eyes as she sought 
to perform cheerfully all the small necessary 
services. “ I didn’t expect it so soon,” she said 
half apologetically, looking up as Mysa entered 
and striving to banish all traces of her emotion. 

“Of course you didn’t, mother; none of us 
expected it. And you are not fit to stand here 
another minute. You must just sit here, please, 
and talk to the neighbors who come in while 
Kitty and I get dinner on. After dinner we 
can pack better.” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 91 

Gently as she spoke Mysa drew her mother 
to the new rocker and seated her in it; then 
with a kiss she laughingly introduced, “ Mrs. 
Graham, mother !” and gave that neighbor a 
seat by her mother’s side. 

“ Now, Kitty, let us be quick and show what 
we can do, for they will all be getting hungry 
over this excitement.” 

As she spoke in her cheery pleasant way 
she glanced at Kitty’s face. It had the old wil- 
ful, rebellious expression which her sister had 
learned to know so well. 

Her heart grew heavy, but none knew it. 
With quick, light movements she flitted here 
and there, from the kitchen to the table and 
from table to cupboard, doing more in one min- 
ute than Kitty did in five. 

Jack Redwood noted all this as he sat or 
stood in the doorway talking to the little groups 
of people who came and went, moved by curi- 
osity or friendly interest to know about this 
sudden, strange resolve. Nothing of the easy 
grace, of the willing haste, or the blithe, encour- 
aging manner escaped the father’s notice. He 
heard the gentle insistence with which she put 
aside all the mother’s offers of help and kept her 
at rest in her own special chair. 

He noted the contrast between his two daugh- 
ters — one willing, ready, efficient, full of thought 


92 A fisherman’s daughter. 

for every one except herself ; the other indiffer- 
ent, careless, pausing now and then for a glance 
as she passed the old-fashioned mirror, and half 
forgetting what duty she was thus delaying. 

“ She ’s a handsome lass,” he said to himself, 
“ a handsome lass, that little Kitty. But she ’s 
too high-minded by far. She should have a sail 
or two taken in ; and if I were here I ’d see to 
its being done. I wonder why she is so differ- 
ent from Mysie. Better looking by a good deal, 
but not half so useful and sensible.” 

After a while he wandered out to where the 
two girls were busy : Mysa concocting some 
savory dish, and Kitty handing implements and 
materials in a half-hearted manner and with a 
face that betokened not the slightest interest in 
any household arrangement. 

“ Why, Mysie, you Ve learned a famous deal 
of one sort or another among your fine city rela- 
tions. You ’ll have to teach Kitty now.” 

“I don’t want to be taught,” interrupted 
Kitty scornfully. “ I guess I know enough to 
get along with.” 

Her father turned upon her sharply. “You 
guess so, do you? Well, I can tell you, my girl, 
you ’ve too good an opinion of yourself. It ’s 
time that was taken out of you. I want you to 
be under Mysie’s charge while I ’m away on this 
voyage. You are to do just as she says. Now, 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


93 


Mysie, put it to her plain. See if there isn’t 
something in her besides looking at her face in 
the glass.” 

“ Oh yes, indeed, father, I know there is,” 
exclaimed Mysa, trying to put her arm around 
Kitty as she stood near ; but the girl impatiently 
jerked herself away. 

“ She and I have great plans, and I hope we 
shall have some pleasant surprises for you when 
you come home again.” 

“Yes, yes? Well, I want you, Kitty, to fol- 
low Mysie’s orders. I ’ll trust you with her. 
And I don’t want the mother fretted and wor- 
ried about you. Try to give her a little peace, 
as Mysie does.” 

Kitty’s face burned angrily as her father 
moved away. 

“ ' As Mysie does — as Mysie does,’ ” she mut- 
tered impatiently. “ I wish Mysie — ” 

“ Oh no, Kitty, do n’t say you wish I had 
stayed away, for I hope you don’t; and if you 
do, all our pleasant plans will never be carried 
out.” 

The tears were in the elder sister’s eyes as 
she laid a pleading hand on Kitty’s arm. 

“ Well, of course, if you do n’t interfere with 
me and try to rule me, I sha’ n’t wish it, though 
I must say it ’s pretty well for father to be tell- 
ing me I’m in your charge. He’ll see,” she 


94 A FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 

added defiantly, looking after him as he left the 
kitchen and went restlessly from place to place. 

A little of the cheery brightness had gone 
out of his bronzed face, though in his talk no 
one could detect any change. He was “ not just 
himself,” as the pale-faced, troubled wife ex- 
pressed it, while she kept her trembling fingers 
busy at some bits of mending, etc., and her eyes 
wandered anxiously towards him. 

For many years they had lived together 
through sunshine and shadow, and many times 
had she prepared his sailor wardrobe for that 
battered old “sea-chest.” Yet somehow this 
time there was a pathos in it all which the pre- 
vious preparations had lacked. The moisture 
would gather in her eyes and blur the final 
stitches. The quiver would come to her lips, 
though they essayed bravely to smile and an- 
swer the sympathizing words of neighbor and 
friend. 

Mysa noticed all this as she went blithely to 
and fro taking household burdens from the mo- 
ther’s shoulders. She had sometimes in the 
past wondered in her girlish way at the differ- 
ence between her father and her uncle Barton, 
between her mother’s choice of a husband and 
her aunt’s. Were they not sisters, brought up 
in closest ties of sympathy and affection, trained 
by the same rules and guided by the same pa- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 95 

rental example ? Yet one had shut herself away 
from all the old associations and contented her- 
self among the fisherwives and the dull seashore 
life. Occasionally a word or two of the girl’s 
wonder escaped her during her life at Aunt 
Julie’s; but she never received any encourage- 
ment to ask questions on the subject. All that 
her aunt ever granted was some tender refer- 
ence to “ Mary’s romantic nature,” or how “ Mary 
had always entertained such sentimental ideas, 
which never could be realized.” Remarks like 
these pondered over by the girl who v/as away 
from mother and home always produced in her 
heart a tender pity that was akin to reverence 
and that had certainly no lack of respect in it. 

What then.^ Had mother aimed to do a 
noble thing, to lift up a soul from a lower plane, 
and by love and honor and obedience to set it 
at last beside her own? And had she in this 
failed ? or had she been to herself satisfactorily 
successful ? 

These were questions which had puzzled the 
girhmind many times in the past. But some- 
how now there in the modest home, with father 
and mother mingling in the common daily rom 
tine among their children, the questions ceased 
to trouble her. A tender love for this pair — 
father and mother — ill-mated perhaps, who could 
tell? but between whom never passed a word 


96 A fisherman’s daughter. 

save of the gentlest and truest affection — a ten- 
der love for this father and mother sprang up 
and grew unconsciously in Mysa’s heart, a feel- 
ing of ready honor and zealous devotion. 

Certainly I know there is God’s command, 
and that every girl and boy is bound, by every 
obligation of nature and of grace, to honor the 
father and mother. Yet these old obligations 
ofttimes rest very lightly on the youth of these 
days ! There is a sad falling off from that high 
truth ; a tendency to exalt the younger genera- 
tion and to let the elders sink into a quietly- 
acknowledged inadequacy for present demands, 
both physical and mental. Have we in our day 
any sons of the prophets ” who look with rev- 
erent attention into the time-marked' faces of 
those who have for years “walked with God” 
and learned his will ? Are they not rather the 
prophets themselves ? seeking that adulation 
which the foolish world bestows upon youth — 
eager, noisy, all-important, all-conquering youth ? 

"What by the side of this fresh, rushing, self- 
confident, positive youth can the elders, calm, 
temperate, experienced, with a well-earned 
knowledge of where lie the hidden rocks, and 
where too lies the Power to avoid them — what 
can these “ slow ” elder ones do ? Are they not 
cumbering the way ? 

Ah, let us who are young bow our heads rev- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 97 

erently before these older ones, and let our 
bright youth plead for some rare and wise teach- 
ing at the lips of Age ! Then shall He Mrho 
gave the command to “ honor,” bless our youth 
and make it contented and glad in its daily 
progress ! 

With this simple trust in that Power which 
had ordained her lot in life, with this unselfish 
love for father and mother, Mysa Redwood 
found her task an easy one of ministering to 
their needs in this emergency. 

She noted too her father’s restlessness. He 
seemed almost eager to be away, and yet at mo- 
ments he would stand with folded hands and 
troubled countenance thinking — of what ? 

Mysa’s cheerful activity brightened every- 
thing, and had it not been for Kitty’s deter- 
mined ill-temper, the last moments might have 
been quite pleasant and sunny. 

“ Come, lass,” said Capt, Antonio, who took 
the final meal with them that night. “ Come, 
my bonnie maid, don’t be downcast! Your 
dad ’s the biggest ‘ boy ’ on board, and he ’ll 
bring us all good luck, I know. And when he 
comes home, if he does n’t bring you the pretti- 
est silk dress that ever flaunted in the harbor 
breezes, then my name isn’t Antonio, that’s 
all!” 

This brought a smile to Kitty’s face, and one 
7 


A FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 


of her pert answers, at which the gray old sailor 
laughed, and even her father looked forgivingly 
at his pretty pet daughter. 

“Yes,” he said, “let Kitty alone for that. 
And she ’ll hold her head too high to see the 
poor boys who beg for a word. But for all 
that,” he added, with a somewhat perplexed 
gaze at his elder daughter, “she can’t look a 
queen in common calico, as Mysie there does ! 
I leave Mysie my first mate. You can trust it 
all to her, can’t you, wife ?” 

“ Yes, indeed,” answered Mrs. Redwood. 
“ Mysie can be trusted for anything. The only 
fear is of her doing too much. vShe is so ambi- 
tious and wants to do for every one.” 

“Well, they ’re a pretty good pair of daugh- 
ters for an old tar like Tack Redwood! Hey, 
’Tonio?” 

“Ay, ay! They are that, Jack!” answered 
the old foreigner, with his keen eyes fixed on 
Mysa and a thoughtful expression in his face. 
She was not one to bandy jests with, the old 
man instinctively felt, though he had scarcely 
said more than a “ good-day ” to her since she 
was a wee girl. All men — young or old — are 
quick to discern between the modest girl who, 
because she respects herself, demands also their 
respect, and the frivolous one who accepts their 
jests and returns in like manner. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 99 

There was no tender sentiment in Jack Red- 
wood’s good-by to his wife, none at least which 
made any outward sign or show. Yet it left her 
with quivering lips and tearful face. And the 
vessel went slowly away on the quiet harbor 
waters, out, out into the wide expanse beyond. 

Faint and dim came back to the watchers on 
the shore the last cheer of the sailors’ hearty 
voices, and only the moonlight’s track and the 
dusky specks of the fishing-boats anchored far 
off remained on the untroubled waters. 

Mysa felt as if some one ought to say, “ Let 
us pray.” 

Instead she said, Let us sing.” 

“ O Light of life,. O Saviour dear, 

Before we go, bow down thine ear! 

Through dark and day, o’er land and sea, 

We have no other hope but Thee!” 

Her sweet, soft voice rose on the night air 
with these words, familiar to those who attended 
the little Harbor church. Her mother and many 
others among the little group of women joined 
in timidly. The good fellowship which existed 
between these families of the fishermen brought 
always a gathering of young and old when one 
or another started out on a voyage or to the 
dangers of the deep-sea fishing. 

Mysa had scarcely thought of any one pres- 
ent except her special family. She had her 


lOO 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


strong young arm about her mother’s slender 
form, and her singing was utterly unconscious 
of any lookers-on or listeners. It was a prayer 
from her warm, earnest young heart, which had 
so early learned to trust Him who holds the wa- 
ters in the hollow of his hand ! 

Some of the women, who had seen husbands, 
sons, or lovers go out in the schooner, clustered 
about Mysa, as the hymn ceased, and thanked 
her in their simple, uncultured words. 

“We couldn’t have done it, you know, but 
we like it.” 

“ Ay ! ’tis the right thing to do ! Bless you, 
bonnie lass ! 

And they turned homeward in the calm 
moonlight, which seemed to enfold them like a 
blessing. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


lOI 


XII. 

“Why, where is Kitty?” asked Mysa, paus- 
ing suddenly in the homeward walk and look- 
ing back. 

“ With some of the boys most likely, Mysie,” 
her mother replied, without any sign of alarm 
in either face or voice. 

“ But she ought to be with us, mother dear, 
or near us at any rate, at this time in the even- 
ing. Who can she be with, I wonder ? Where 
is Jeff?” 

“Jeff went away to lead a prayer-meeting in 
the old village schoolhouse.” 

“ Could Kitty have gone with him ?” 

“ No, Miss Mysie, I guess she hasn’t steered 
that way ! Kitty do n’t take up with prayer- 
meetings.” 

“ Too solemn for her, you see ; that ’s all, 
Mysie ! Do n’t you fret ; she ’ll look out for a 
good harbor after she ’s had her sail !” 

And so on. But all this failed to cheer Mysa. 
She felt all the more disturbed because her mo- 
ther appeared so tranquil. The neighbors left 
them one by one, and at last they were alone. 
As they drew near home Charley put his hand 


102 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


on Mysa’s arm, and drawing her head down 
whispered,. “ Can’t we go to the hotel, and then 
we can see if Kit ’s there ? I guess she is !” 

Mysa pondered. Oh why was not Jeff with 
them, as he should be ? Could he not see that 
there was a heed in his own home even greater 
than that of the prayer-meeting? No! we are 
all apt to look over and beyond the little needs 
close at home and all around us, seeking for 
some larger place where to let our light shine ! 
So it was with Jeff. 

As Mysa pondered, she realized that she had 
not been free from blame herself. She had 
allowed herself to be so fully occupied with the 
scene and the sentiment of her father’s sudden 
departure that other thoughts had been shut 
out. This was Mysa’s besetting sin — a tendency 
to look upon the sentimental side of things, neg- 
lecting the plain and practical part. Why had 
she not kept near Kitty and talked with her, 
even if it had jarred upon her finer nature and 
feelings? Ah, how much more closely she 
needed to follow the Master herself, if she 
wished to lead and help others! Yes, she must 
turn from her criticism of brother Jeff’s actions 
and take heed to her own. 

“ I ’m most sure,” urged Charley, as they 
stood on the little porch taking a last look at the 
Harbor waters so still and fair, while the neigh- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 103 

boriy old woman who had been staying with 
baby Ben came out also to see and hear. 

‘‘Most sure of what, Charley?” asked Mrs. 
Redwood, catching sight of his eager face in 
the moonlight. 

“ That Kitty has gone to the ball at the ho- 
tel. And I want Mysie to come after her, and 
then we can look in and see the fun !” 

Mrs. Redwood looked doubtfully at her 
daughter. She did not seem capable of decid- 
ing what ought to be done. It seemed strange 
to Mysa. Who could order and direct Kitty’s 
ways if not her own mother ? 

Mysa grew impatient as all this passed 
through her mind in the minute of silence fol- 
lowing Charley’s explanation. Yet she knew 
she was wrong. She had no right to be impa- 
tient. Was it not God’s plan of life that we 
should help each other; where one was weak 
and another strong, that the stronger should 
act ? Many mothers, we know not why — per- 
haps from their very love, and their nearness to 
the object of it — fail to see their children’s 
faults and to control and guide those children 
aright. Should not those, then, who stand in a 
clearer light, and see w'hat is for the best, give 
all the kindly help and counsel which is pos- 
sible ? 

“ Oh, Charley, it is late, and you ought to go 


104 A fisherman’s daughter. 

to bed. I cannot understand why Kitty should 
have left us to go there. It may be that she has 
only run in at some of the neighbors. I have 
been so worried and hurried over papa’s going 
to sea again in this strange way that I have n’t 
given a thought to that ball. As for keeping a 
watch on Kitty, I gave that up long ago !” 

“ Certainly, mother ! It was my place to 
look after her ! I really forgot her as we stood 
looking after the schooner ; and I suppose that 
is when she slipped away. She does n’t feel 
such things as deeply as we do, and she wants 
her pleasure in other ways !” 

“ Well, if she has gone, some one must have 
taken her and will bring her back all right.” 
Mrs Redwood spoke in a hesitating way, looking 
questioningly at her daughter. 

Mysa whispered to Charley, “I think we 
wont go this time, dear. But to-morrow you 
and I will plan a party, a real party of our own ! 
And when we have it, it will be far prettier than 
any ‘ ball ’ where there are all kinds of people !” 

Charley’s eyes grew big. “A real party ? in 
our own house ? here, Mysie ?” 

“Yes. And music and all sorts of nice 
things ! And we ’ll see if we can’t make Kitty 
like it better than the ball. Now go to bed and 
dream about it !” She kissed him, and he ran 
contentedly up stairs. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 105 

“ What a way you have with them all, My- 
sie !” said her mother, as she leaned back in her 
chair with a look of weariness. “ I don’t know, 
I wish — ” 

A knock at the door interrupted, and a voice 
said, “ It ’s only I — Graham. I stopped to see if 
you felt at all worried about Kitty. I saw her 
go off to the ball, you know. And I was sure 
you did not know of it. I ’m going down, and 
if there is anything I can do — ” 

“ Oh, thank you, George ! This is very kind ! 
Why did n’t Kitty go with you, if she must go 
at all ?” 

“ She was vexed with me for coaxing her 
not to go, and so — well, there was a young 
fellow from the new House on the shore to- 
night, and he took her.” 

Mysa’s eyes flashed. “ Mother !” she ex^ 
claimed, “ wont you send positive word by 
George that Kitty must come home with 
him ?” 

“Why yes, dear, if you think it will do any 
good. Kitty is so headstrong! I think you 
know about that, George?” she answered appeal- 
ing to the young man, who looked the very 
incarnation of strong, brave manhood as he 
stood respectfully confronting her womanly 
weakness. 

“ Yes, ma’am, I know how Kitty is. But if 


io6 A fisherman’s daughter. 

you send your command, I will promise to bring 
her home,” he an.swered quietly. 

Mysa looked at him admiringly. “ Oh !” she 
thought, “ this young man is really worthy ! 
Why wont Kitty see it — so much nobler — so far 
beyond — ” 

“Of course mother gives her command! 
George understands it all, mother ; let him have 
your word !” 

“Certainly; tell Kitty I wish her to come 
with you. She is too young to go about so 
carelessly. But I can’t seem to persuade her — ” 

Before she had fairly finished speaking the 
young man had taken warning from Mysa’s 
anxious face, bowed, and hastily sped away. 
What took place when George Graham reached 
the hotel, what words passed between him and 
Kitty, no one knew. 

But within an hour the two returned together 
to Kitty’s home. Mrs. Redwood had retired at 
her daughter’s request; and so, Mysa thought, 
had Jeff, who came in from his prayer-meeting 
just as George Graham disappeared up the road 
leading to the village. 

Of course Jeff wanted to know why the two 
women sat there, with such tired faces, instead 
of going to bed and resting after the day’s ex- 
citement. 

“Yes, mother; you must go and try to get 


A fisherman’s daughter. 107 

some sleep,” said Mysa quietly, and with a wise 
thought of saying no more to Jeff of what had 
passed. 

But her mother did not seem to catch the 
idea, and said wearily, 

“ Some one must wait up to let Kitty in ; and 
I am more used to such things than you, dear ; 
so you — ” 

“ To let Kitty in !” interrupted Jeff, while his 
sister, at the same instant, hoping to turn the 
current of his thoughts, said, 

“ Oh yes, mother, you know people in the 
city are often up late. There are so many things 
to keep young folks out. My cousins had all 
sorts of — ” 

But it was useless. Mysa soft voice — eager 
and important as she had tried, on this occasion, 
to make it sound — had no chance whatever by 
the side of her brother’s loud, indignant tones ! 
He talked right over her head, as if she was only 
a little chirping, soulless bird. 

“ Kitty ’s out, is she ? And what new freak 
of nonsense have you let her go on now? It 
does seem queer that you can’t keep that girl 
within bounds ! Where ’s she gone to ?” 

Mysa was too indignant to pay any heed to 
the rough question. 

“ Come, mother,” she said, in her low, calm 
voice, which carried a certain peace to her mo- 


io8 A fisherman’s daughter. 

ther’s disturbed nerves ; “ leave it all to me. I 
shall sit here and read, and do you go to rest. 
You need it.” 

“ Answer me, mother, will you ?” Jeff de- 
manded, confronting his mother. “ Where has 
Kitty gone ?” 

“ She has gone to the hotel, Jeff. But you 
need n’t worry : mother has sent Mr. Graham to 
bring her. So it is all right. You and mother 
can go to bed ; I have my book and my writing 
here ; and I shall sit and wait for them.” 

A sneer passed across Jeff’s face. 

“ Oh well, if ‘ Mr.’ Graham has taken it in 
hand, of course I shall lay dovm my oars ! But 
you ’ll soon find out hov/ much he ’ll do for the 
girl !” 

He went noisily up stairs. Then Mysa kissed 
her mother with a smile and a quiet “good 
night,” and sat down to her books. 

In a few minutes all was silent within the 
seashore home. 

The regular “break — break — break” of the 
sea upon the “ gray crags ” of the uneven shore 
was the only sound which fell on Mysa’s ear for 
a good half-hour or more. 

She felt very thankful that Jeff had gone to 
bed. She knew that he was too rough and too 
hasty to deal with a girl like Kitty. He was too 
determined that every one should conform to his 


A fisherman’s daughter. 109 

idea of right. And Kitty would never be driven 
into right ways ! 

Kitty’s nature and Jeff’s were constantly at 
warfare. He was not as harsh nor she as heart- 
less as would seem from their words and actions. 
But each considered the other to be wrong, and 
neither would yield. Jeff honestly felt and 
feared that Kitty would go to ruin through 
worldly temptations if some severe measures 
were not taken to prevent it. He did not know 
anything about the greater influence of gentle 
ways and means — the magnetic power of love 
and kindness and the force of constant, bright 
example. 

Who shall say that there was not deep in 
the young fisherman’s heart, under the rough 
exterior, the harsh words, and the unwise efforts 
to control, a true brotherly love for his wayward 
sister? God only can see the hidden depths of 
all hearts. 

“ Poor little Kitty ! I wish I could make life 
bright and beautiful — and good — to her!” Mysa 
said fervently to herself. Then she uttered it as 
a prayer to God : and soon a sense of repose and 
strength came to her troubled heart. 

Soon after this she heard footsteps and a 
voice — only one voice — George Graham’s, low 
and persuasive and kind. But no voice spoke in 
reply. 


I lO 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


Mysa went to the door. 

“ Oh here you are ; in such good season, too ! 
Wont you come in and rest, George?” 

“No, thank you. Miss Mysie ; not this time. 
Good-night. Good-night, Kitty !” 

The girl took no notice whatever of his 
special “ good-night ” to her, but pushed past 
her sister into the house. 

“ It’s all right, Miss Mysie,” said George, in a 
low voice. “No great harm done, only Kitty is 
so terribly vexed with me !” 

“ I am very sorry. But that will come all 
right again, I hope. And I can’t tell you how I 
thank you, George !” 

“ Oh that ’s all right,” and he repeated his 
good-night and passed on. 

Kitty had gone up stairs, and there was a 
loud and angry altercation taking place between 
herself and her brother Jeff. 

Mysa had been mistaken about his having 
gone to bed. He had been lying in wait for 
Kitty, and was then in the full height of his in- 
dignant attack upon her. 

“ Let me pass, I tell you ! Do you think I 
shall stand here and listen to your abuse?” 

“ You shall hear how you have shamed us all 
by your wicked behavior ! — you, a slip of a girl ! 
And as for George Graham — ” 

“ Hush !” almost screamed the infuriated girl. 


A fisherman’s daughter. Ill 

stamping her small foot on the floor as Mysa 
ran lightly up the stairs and caught Jeff’s up- 
lifted arm before he could utter another word. 

“ There — run to your room, Kitty. And, Jeff, 
please do n’t make any more trouble for mother ! 
She is used up now, after all she has gone 
through to-day. Wait till morning. We shall 
all be more calm, and better able to see things 
rightly, by then. Good-night.” 

She slipped inside her own door before the 
astonished brother could speak a word. 

And Kitty — whose room connected with her 
sister’s — heard her singing softly, 

“Jesus, meek and gentle, 

Son of God most High, 

Pitying, loving Saviour, 

Hear thy children’s cry !” 


I 12 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XIII. 

The first words which reached Mysa’s ears 
the next morning came through the slight par- 
tition which separated her room from Kitty’s, 
and they were these : 

“ Well, all I ’ve got to say is that Mysie had 
better take up with George Graham herself, she 
thinks he’s so mighty good! As for him, he 
sets her up as a sort of angel 1” 

‘‘ Oh, Kitty child, don’t talk like that !” came 
the meekly-remonstrating tones of her mother. 

And then Mysa knew that her mother had 
gone to Kitty’s room to try and smooth matters 
over before any general meeting should take 
place at breakfast. The frail, gentle-hearted 
mother! Mysa’s eyes filled with tears as she 
heard the soft pleading voice, and she set her 
lips resolutely. 

Presently, when she heard her mother open 
the door to come out, she went to meet her and 
whispered affectionately, “Now, mother, you 
have n’t had half a night’s rest, and I am going 
straight down to get Jeff’s breakfast, while you 
lie down again, or sit here by the window and 
breathe in this delicious air, so calm and sweet ! 
Let me try it this once.” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 1 13 

She led her mother back to her own room 
and closed the door until she had received a 
promise that things should be as she wished for 
that morning. Then she smilingly hurried out, 
and in a fevr minutes they heard her below, 
singing softly and talking with Charley, who 
was up much earlier than usual. 

The girl’s heart beat a little faster v/hen in 
the course of half an hour she heard her brother 
Jeff’s heavy tread on the door-stone. 

‘‘Where’s mother? Isn’t breakfast ready? 
It is past the time !” 

“ Yes, breakfast is all ready, and Charley and 
I are here to help eat it. Mother was so used 
up that she is taking a little extra rest this 
morning. Sit right down as soon as you are 
ready, Jeff. You know our cousins are coming 
day after to-morrow, and we are anxious to have 
mother take all the rest she will, so that she 
may enjoy their visit.” 

She talked on quite uninterrupted. Jeff felt 
his breath taken away. Before he could find 
words to complain of one thing she had changed 
the subject and was speaking of something else. 

And “we” are anxious about mother! “we”! 
He wondered who Mysa meant. It had not 
been customary for any one in the house to 
regard the mother with any special care. 

“ ‘ Our cousins ’ are coming, are they ? And 
8 


1 14 A fisherman’s daughter. 

who is going to entertain them, I ’d like to 
know ?” 

“ Why, we are all going to do our very best 
to make it pleasant for them, Jeff. That is just 
what they did for you once, when you went to 
visit at their house.” 

'‘Yes,” assented the young man, without any 
enthusiasm whatever. 

“And we’re going to have a party, Jeff ! a 
real party! Mysie and I know all about it!” 
cried Charley, putting down his spoon with a 
sudden joyful recollection of what his sister had 
told him the night before. 

“You are, eh? Better have a ball! that’ll 
suit Miss Kit better!” Then after a minute’s 
silence, during which no one seemed to find any 
reply, he went on in a severe tone, 

“ It ’s abominable, the way you all let that 
girl go on ! I wonder if you know she ’s got a 
soul !” 

“Oh, Jeff! of course we do. And we want 
to do just what is best for her.” 

“ Then why do n’t you shut her up until she 
learns to obey?” 

“ I am sure that would be the worst way we 
could take, Jeff. We shouldn’t show our love 
for her in that way.” 

“ Well, follow your own notions ! I wash my 
hands of the whole business.” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 1 15 

He rose, put back his chair with a thump, 
and went out. 

Yet somehow Mysa felt that she had accom- 
plished some little good. 

She made some fresh coffee and toast for her 
mother, who came down with Kitty soon after. 

Mysa spoke quietly and not unkindly to her- 
sister, who tossed her head and looked defiant. 

Sorely puzzled indeed was this true-hearted 
daughter of the Great King to know how to 
help her young sister. She thought of it as she 
walked to her little pupils that morning, and at 
last decided to let it all rest for the present ; to 
say nothing specially to Kitty of this last act of 
hers, but to wait for a time and opportunity 
which mdght come afterwards. She had great 
hopes from the visit of her cousins for many 
things. It would at least give Kitty some- 
thing at home to enjoy, and perhaps draw her 
thoughts away from those gayeties in which she 
rightfully had no part. 

The two sisters worked together at the little 
home decorations, and by degrees Kitty became 
her old bright, audacious self. There was really 
nothing toi despair about in this girlish heart ; it 
was only the eager, intense longing for present 
enjoyment which so often led her astray. Into 
her narrow life had come, not that large and 
beautiful teaching which had made ]\Iysa’s so 


Il6 A fisherman’s daughter. 

different, but occasional flashes of brightness 
from that outer circle of “ society ” which only 
made her long for more. 

It is natural for a girl to love all bright and 
pleasant things. It is youth’s special preroga- 
tive to be gay and merry. The longing will 
come ; it must be satisfied. Only let this be 
done by pure and true and noble means. Let 
each young girl, let each young man seeh that 
sunlight which carries no dark shade of shame 
in its train. Let them catch those gleams of 
gladness which leave the atmosphere clear and 
the eyes uplifted to look fearlessly at God and 
man !• The soul throned on the inner, hidden 
pedestal of life is of a far greater worth than 
any most radiant sunlight in which we may 
enfold it ! 

Well indeed was it for Kitty Redwood that 
she had so loving, so patient, so wise a sister ! 
Yet I would not have you infer that Mysa found 
her task always pleasant, nor that she was 
always ready in spirit for it. No ; she had her 
own constant battle to fight, herself to keep 
under, her longings to restrain. 

She was not always patient with her sister’s 
whims ; she could not always see the bright side 
of the life which God had given her ; at times 
she almost lost trace of the dear Master’s foot- 
prints, as her selfish tears dimmed her sight! 


A fisherman’s daughter. 1 17 

No ; Mysa Redwood found it no easier than you 
find it to do right and fulfil her promise of 
serving God daily in all things. But my story 
is to tell you how she conquered, and what 
brightness she found in common duties faith- 
fully done. 

She fought bravely, and I tell you of her suc- 
cesses and her joys, that you may take heart and 
fight likewise with zeal and good courage. 

The cousins from the city came at the time 
appointed — Gerald and Paul and Gregory. “ But 
not Tom?” Mysa asked, looking from one to 
another, with glad, shining eyes, as they stood 
filling the little parlor with their brave young 
manhood. All but Tom !” 

“Well, now, Mysie, that’s a pretty greeting 
for a fellow, isn’t it? for all three of us in fact ! 
' All but Tom !’ as if Tom had been the one de- 
sire and longing of her heart !” 

“ Tom had an engagement made some time 
back, Mysie, to go on a walking tour in the 
mountains. He sent his love and was sorry 
enough that things had happened so.” 

Thus Gerald spoke in his kind way, as if 
wishing Mysa to understand and not to feel that 
Tom had carelessly gone elsewhere. 

She made no special reply. A look of sur- 
prise and disappointment passed across her face ; 
that was all they saw; then she was her own 


ii8 A fisherman’s daughter. 

bright self again, entertaining and caring for 
all. 

The young men were staying at the “Sea- 
shore Home,” but they spent nearly the whole 
of every day in company with Mysa and in do- 
ing everything which they found possible to 
brighten and gladden her life. 

With all her desire that Kitty should enjoy 
the change and the excitement, Mysa found time 
for many a quiet, helpful talk with Gerald and 
Paul. She introduced them to George Graham, 
after first telling them of his wish to go to col- 
lege and of how she wanted them to encourage 
and advise him. 

They were taken with this frank^young fish- 
er-lad immediately, and were easily drawn into 
interest with his wishes and hopes. They talked 
freely with him, just as Mysa knew they would ; 
they explained to him what aids there were for 
the students in certain colleges, and expressed 
themselves as only too glad to be of any service 
to him in this matter. He took the city friends 
out often for a day’s fishing in his own boat, and 
it was on these occasions that the young men 
grew to know each other well and to talk to- 
gether without reserve. Before their visit was 
over they had even been persuaded into calling 
at fisherman Graham’s cottage and urging upon 
him the wisdom of allowing his eldest son to 


A fisherman’s daughter. I 19 

follow his inclinations and obtain a more com- 
plete education. 

The simple fisherman, narrow-minded and 
ignorant as he was, yet felt a certain charm in 
the words and manners of these young men, and 
he began at last to look more favorably upon 
their suggestions. 

Into George Graham’s heart a great joy be- 
gan to grow. Was life then, after all, to be to 
him that which he had so long desired ? He sat 
poring over his few precious books far into the 
night, and a book was always in his pocket when 
he went out with the others in the fishing-boats. 
The spare minutes which they spent in gossip 
and talk he spent in reading or study. But he 
was always good-natured when his companions 
chaffed him and asked, “ Are you going to be a 
parson or a missionary?” 

“ Well, I can’t tell you yet,” he would reply 
with a smile ; “ but there ’s one thing sure : I 
mean to know something. There ’s so much 
that is wonderful in the world, so much that’s 
worth finding out and that was meant for us to 
find out, and I ’m going to have my share of it.” 
And he continued to be, as he had always been, 
a favorite with all the fisher-lads and with the 
older ones as well. 


120 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XIV. 

Kitty and Charley had their promised “ par- 
ty ” during the cousins’ visit ; but it was quite a 
different affair from that party which they had 
dreamed of. The difference was chiefly in the 
guests who were invited. There were, first, 
Mysa’s little pupils, who came for a while in the 
early evening, and who thought Miss Mysa’s 
party ” nicer than any of the “ hops ” and things 
which they had seen at the hotel. 

Then there were the big sisters and brothers 
of those little pupils, with vrhom Mysa had be- 
come well acquainted, and whom the cousins 
also had learned to know during their stay at 
the “ Seashore Home.” 

Of the fisher-folk there were a few, those 
who Mysa knew would enjoy it, and who in their 
quaint, simple ways would be of interest to her 
more cultivated friends. George Graham was 
there, with a new light in his eyes and a glad- 
ness in his whole bearing that made Mysa’s 
heart grateful to those ever-helpful cousins. 

It was not a large company, but a very pleas- 
ant one, and even Kitty was radiant with happi- 
ness. Her cousin Gerald had already secured a 
strong hold on the impulsive maiden through 


A fisherman’s daughter. 12 1 

the tones of his violin, and on this evening the 
music seemed to thrill her with delight. 

She and her cousin Gregory were like two 
merry children as they sang gayly together and 
started the young people in one game after an- 
other. 

Gregory, the youngest of her cousins, was 
only a schoolboy, to be sure ; yet to this eager 
and foolish girl he brought the witchery of that 
city life which, unknown, seemed so enchanting. 
He talked with such brightness and made friends 
with every one so easily, and taught them new 
games with such grace and readiness, that Kitty 
thought him a-perfect “ prince in a fairy tale.” 

Many of the older ones watched the young 
couple, so gay together, and thought it a pretty 
picture. George Graham watched also with a 
smile. ‘‘ She ’d just like to go laughing and 
playing that way through life, the pretty, blithe 
creature,” he said to Mysa as she went and stood 
near him. ‘‘ I remember well, when she was a 
wee girl, how she used to go climbing and clam- 
bering with her tiny feet all over the rocks and 
in the boats and calling us to go after her, her 
fair curls flying in the breeze and she waving 
her hand to encourage us, like a little princess. 
I wish she might have all the joy she longs for.” 

“That is very kind and unselfish in you,” 
Mysa answered, smiling; “but she will be far 


122 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


happier, you know, if she learns to take life 
cheerfully as it comes, the sunshine and the 
shade together.” 

“Yes, if she can learn it. But, Miss Mysie, 
it is harder for some. I wonder why that is,” 
he added musingly. 

“ It must be for the best, since God has 
ordered it so ; and you must help me, George, to 
teach Kitty the lesson.” 

“ Indeed I wish I could. I ’ve tried some- 
times to say things to Kitty ; but I ’m such a 
bungler she gets out of patience with my prosy 
talk, as she calls it. She likes the boys who say 
pretty things to her. I don’t know how. I can 
think them, but I can’t speak them.” 

He sighed, and then a quick flush of pleasure 
crossed his sunburned face as he saw Kitty com- 
ing towards them. 

It was like a gleam of sunshine, the grave 
lad thought, as he watched her. And so it was, 
if only it had been that best sunshine which is 
kindled at the “ Sun of Righteousness,” and 
which shines ever clearly in the darkest spots, 
“ for His name’s sake.” 

“ You are two regular old fogies !” she ex- 
claimed, laughing, as she came up to them, 
“ standing here with such solemn faces, talking 
of some dry old thing or other. Why do n’t you 
come and have a good time? Oh it’s lovely!” 


A fisherman’s daucthter. 123 

She drew a long breath and looked around the 
little rooms. How pretty they had made them 
look, and how proud Kitty felt ! 

“ Gerald’s violin is splendid !” she exclaimed, 
tapping her restless foot in time to the gay mu- 
sic. “ But I wish we had a piano, Mysa !” 

Mysa laughed. But young Graham said, 

“You shall have one some day, Kitty !” 

His tone was low and earnest : but she 
laughed gayly. 

“ Oh, thank you, George ! But you know 
college men never have any money ! they ’re al- 
ways poor !” 

She was off again before he could say any- 
thing more. 

“ She is like a gay butterfly,’’ said Cousin 
Paul, as he watched her. “ She flits everywhere, 
intent on finding some delight, some sweetness 
for herself ! It is all self with her, while My- 
sie is ever seeking some way to help others and 
make them happy ! She loses all thought of 
herself. What a difference ! Oh, our brave, un- 
selfish, ‘ adopted sister,’ I wish you really were 
our sister ! and I wish we might take you right 
back with us, never to go away again !” 

And yet Paul sees — as do many others — what 
a work she is doing there, whither a wise Father 
has sent her. On every hand lie the scattered 
threads, which she may take up in her strong, 


124 A fisherman’s daughter. 

careful grasp, and weave into patterns of beauty. 
Yet many of these are very rough and unpleas- 
ant to the touch — to the dainty touch of a girl 
who has seen and felt so much of life’s fine, rare 
beauty ! Some of them are stiff and hard to 
handle; some are broken and tangled. The 
labor is not an easy one , there is so little present 
joy or satisfaction ! 

But what matter ? since it is to be done for 
His sake, and “ in His name.” The compensa- 
tion lies in that thought; the strength and the 
grace are there too ! 

It was a pleasant evenings Even Jeff, who 
had scoffed at the project, and lent no help in 
the preparations, stood in the background and 
looked on without finding anything to criticise 
except his sister Kitty's frivolity. 

Jeff was too ignorant to discern clearly how 
characters differ. His conversion was an honest 
one, but it was not large and generous enough 
to admit of his finding any room for those who 
differed from him in their likes and longings. 

He could not see any wisdom in the way 
Mysa endeavored to win her sister by giving her 
the harmless joy and brightness for which she 
was longing. His idea of religion was stern and 
unyielding. He made Christ’s way, upon which 
we must walk, a clouded one, without sunshine 


A fisherman’s daughter. 125 

or mirth. He forgot that our Saviour mingled 
in the joys of a wedding gathering and that he 
attended a great feast in the house of one of his 
own disciples. 

Kitty noticed her brother Jeff watching her 
rather gloomily, and a gleam of malicious fun 
crossed her face. Some of the young ladies and 
gentlemen had been singing, and as a pause oc- 
curred, at the end of a song, Kitty spoke across 
the room, so that all could hear, 

“Come, Jeff! it’s your turn to sing now. 
What will you give us?” 

Every eye was instantly turned upon poor 
Jeff, whose face blazed with mingled anger and 
embarrassment. Gerald took in the meaning of 
it directly, and he began to play something pop- 
ular upon his violin, while Paul — remarking upon 
the beauty of certain fisher songs and ballads 
of the sea — moved slowly across to where his 
cousin Jeff was standing, very ill at ease. 

“ Kitty is overflowing with fun to-night,” he 
said quietly, as he stood by Jeff’s side. 

“ Fun ! I reckon she ’ll find to her sorrow* 
some day, that she was put in the world for 
something else besides what she calls fun !” 

“ Oh I do n’t think she means to do anything 
out of the way, Jeff. She is so young; we must 
all be patient with her nonsense. I think Mysa 
takes just the very best way with her.” 


126 A fisherman’s daughter. 

Jeff raised his eyebrows. 

“ Yon do ? Well, I think Mysa might show a 
deal more sense, and give Kitty some idea of 
her duty, instead of giving in to all her silly no- 
tions and fancies. But then you think every- 
thing Mysa does is right ! I see that !” 

Nobody is perfect, Jeff ; but I do think My- 
sie is one of the best girls that ever lived !” 

“Yes, you’re one-sided,” replied the fisher- 
man, in his provoking drawl. 

“ Perhaps ! I do n’t see how any one could 
live with Mysie Redwood long and not grow to 
lean towards her,” Paul answered good-naturedly. 

The young visitors were thinking of going, 
and were expressing to Mysa their thanks for 
such a pleasant evening. 

“ It was so good of you,” Miss Greshom was 
saying in a low tone to Mysa, “to let us see 
something of the young folks of the Harbor! 
It is what I have often wished for.” Then, as 
she noted Mysa’s strange smile and the flush 
upon her cheeks, she remembered that she her- 
self belonged to those “ Harbor young folks,” 
and she became somewhat embarrassed. 

“A very pleasantly arranged little company,” 
said Jack Greshom, as he fastened his sister’s 
cloak. “And if I see you to-morrow. Miss Red- 
wood, I think I shall prove to you that I am 
right in regard to that quotation !” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 12/ 

Mysa laughed and shook her head. 

“ I warn you, Mr. Greshom, that my cousin 
Mysie is pretty generally correct ! ” said 
Gerald. 

And so with bright, kind words the guests 
departed, and the humble home was left to the 
fisherman’s family. As the sound of voices and 
of footsteps died away along fhe shore, and the 
cottage doors were closed, Kitty threw her arms 
around Mysa’s neck and kissed her, exclaiming, 
“You’re the best sister in all the world to give 
us such a lovely time ! I ’ll never forget it !” 

“ I am so glad that you enjoyed it, dear,” her 
sister replied, with a dimness over her eyes. 

“And you’ll say your prayers after it all, I 
reckon,” remarked Jeff grimly, as he took a 
candle and started for bed. 

“ If anything will make me say my prayers, 
it will be having a good time, like to-night, I 
can tell you that !” called Kitty. And there was 
a certain earnestness in her look and tone which 
made Mysa’s prayers, at least, more fervent even 
than usual that night. 

“And how is it with you, mother ? Have we 
tired you out?” asked Mysa, sitting down by her 
mother a moment before going up stairs. 

“ Oh no indeed, child ! It has done me 
good. Why, it has carried me back years and 
years to my own girlish days,” she added, in a 


128 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


musing tone. “ I should like to have seen your 
aunt Julie here to-night. Such happy days we 
used to spend together !” 

So should I, mother ! I thought of Aunt 
Julie many times ; Paul is so like her.” 

“Yes, and a nice lad. I wish I knew where 
your father is to-night,” Mrs. Redwood said, as 
they rose to go up stairs. A little look of anx- 
iety came over her face as she spoke. 

Mysa put her arm over her mother’s shoul- 
der, and said in a low tone, “ Father is being 
taken care of, you know, mother.” 

“Yes, my child. But I wish I had more 
trust ! ” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


29 


XV. 

Soon the summer was over and gone. The 
cousins had returned to their duties. George 
Graham had gone off to pursue the studies in 
which he delighted, arid the noise and bustle 
and gayety of hotel life began to abate. 

Mysa had received several offers — very kind- 
ly and delicately made — to go as governess in 
the families where Imr summer duties had been 
so acceptably performed. She would have liked 
it — she told them so frankly — but her first duty 
was at home yet. She could not see her way 
clear to leave the Harbor. She wished, oh so 
much, that she might go for a few days’ visit — 
even for a few days— to Uncle Barton’s ! She 
had not seen them all — she had not seen Tom — 
and she longed so to look into the bright, boy- 
ish face and see if the clear, truthful eyes could 
tell her the story she would wish to know. 

She had been greatly disappointed at not 
seeing Tom with his brothers, and she could not 
feel quite satisfied with his excuse. Tom was a 
strange lad, with some wayward notions, yet a 
wise love could guide him without any trouble. 

But there were too many duties in her own 
9 


130 A fisherman’s daughter. 

home for Mysa to venture any thought of leav- 
ing it just then, even for a short time. She 
wrote often to her cousin Tom, but his replies 
were not satisfactory, though very kind and 
affectionate. 

Mysa, however, had enough nearer home 
to keep her busy and anxious. The ever- 
restless Kitty was more full of life and longing 
than ever. She went flitting here and there, 
catching eagerly each stray gleam of sunshine, 
each breath that blew from the noisy world afar. 
Sometimes she would get off early in the morn- 
ing before any one knew of it, and be gone half 
the day or more. When they asked her where 
she had been she would say, “ Oh, out in the 
sunshine along the shore ; it ’s too pleasant to be 
shut up in a house ! I can’t breathe indoors ; 
it ’s too little.” 

“ But, Kitty, there are duties for each day, in 
spite of the golden sunshine and the autumn 
breezes,” Mysa would perhaps answer. 

“ Then the duties can wait, or stay undone !” 
the girl would very likely reply, with a saucy 
smile and a toss of her head. Often she would 
come in with a wonderful color and brightness 
in her face, as if she had caught the breath of 
the sea, and it had put fresh life and vigor into 
every vein. 

“ Why can’t we go together to enjoy these 



A Fisherman’s Daughter. Page 130. 




A fisherman's daughter. 13 1 

bright days, Kitty?” her sister sometimes asked. 
And occasionally they did so. But the wayward 
girl seemed to love best her own wild excursions, 
which appeared to have a certain mystery about 
them. 

Do n’t fret about the child, Mysie,” Mrs. 
Redwood would sometimes say. “ She has 
always been like this. Why, she has even gone 
off with the boys in their boats, and I knew 
nothing about it till some of the children 
brought me word. Or she would be about the 
rocks all day. I 've grown used to it, you see, 
dear, and I don’t worry.” 

“But oh, mother; there is much that she 
ought to be doing and learning ! She has so 
many good qualities, and she might be so love- 
ly! I wish — at least I almost wish — that she 
had gone to Aunt Julie’s for those three years 
instead of me !” 

Mysa was too true to say she wished it entire- 
ly. Those years had left too sweet a memory 
in her heart for that ! Yet she could see, as she 
thought of all the quiet yet powerful influences 
of that home, what Kitty would probably have 
grown to be, subjected to such influences day 
by day for three years. 

Since, however, that blessing had been sent 
to her and not to Kitty, was not her duty now 
very plain ? Had she any right to turn to any 


132 A fisherman’s daughter. 

other road than that which lay so clearly before 
her there, “ down by the sea ” ? Surely not ! 
Neither had she any right to find it a hard and 
tedious road. She had learned w^here to go for 
strength and for sunshine. She need never go 
in vain. She, a King’s daughter, might obtain 
all the privileges of her daugKterhood, and walk 
by her sister’s side daily, laden with precious 
proofs of that blessedness into which she longed 
that Kitty herself might enter ! 

Mrs. Redwood seemed low-spirited that fall. 
She was never gay, scarcely bright ; but now 
she seemed brooding over some possible calam- 
ity. Some of the fishermen who had accom- 
panied her husband and “ Capt. Tony ” from 
the Harbor had returned by themselves, and 
their account of those whom they left behind 
had not been at all satisfactory. Capt. Tony 
had sent them home from the fishing-banks in 
another fishing vessel. He and Jack, he said, 
were going further on “to see a little of the 
world.” Jack sent his love to his wife, but that 
had been all. No word as to when he might be 
expected home again, nor any reason given for 
his going on with the foreign sailor and appar- 
ently neglecting his own special work. And 
thus Mrs. Redwood had cause .for anxious 
thought during those slowly-passing days. 

Mysa made special efforts for her mother’s 


A fisherman’s daughter. 133 

sake. And Aunt Julie wrote that she would 
come down and accompany her, if her sister 
could be persuaded to go to the city for a 
visit. 

“ Oh, mother, do go ! it will give you new life 
and vigor to stay with Aunt Julie a while! 
And there isn’t the slightest reason why you 
should be kept here, at any rate during father’s 
absence. If Kitty and Jeff and I can’t take care 
of ourselves and the household, we ought to be 
ashamed. Isn’t that so, Kitty ?” 

“Of course. I can’t see but one improve-, 
ment on your plan, and that is for me to go 
with mother. But then Aunt Julie doesn’t 
want me ; that ’s pretty plain.” 

“She will want you, Kitty, some day, I 
know. The time is coming when Aunt Julie 
will be proud to say, ‘ This is my niece Kitty 
Redwood,’ to all her friends there. If she does 
not, it will be only your own fault.” 

“ Oh, I suppose so, of course,” assented the 
girl, pretending to feel injured, but with a 
pleased smile which she could iiof repress at 
the thought that perhaps she really might, some 
day, be welcomed to the home of her city rela- 
tives. 

But her mother had no such desire appar- 
ently. 

“ I cannot go yet, Mysie ; not this fall. I ’m 


134 A fisherman’s daughter. 

not afraid to leave things to your care ; you will 
get on well enough without me here. But I do 
not feel ready to leave home, not now. I can 
write to Julie, but I can’t explain how I feel 
about it. She wont understand.” 

So Mysa finally gave up urging it, hoping 
that they might succeed in their plan by Christ- 
mas. 

Those were golden days which that autumn 
season brought, so far at least as nature was 
concerned. The beauty and brightness seemed 
wonderful to Mysa, who had lost all memory of 
it during those last years. Each morning was 
a fresh revelation of joy to her, and every even- 
ing a marvel of earthly glory. She longed so 
to show those dull, unmoved people in what a 
radiance their daily lives were set, what rich, 
rare gems encircled their round of common 
duties. Oh what a work it would be to open 
their eyes, to help them get even a faint glim- 
mer of understanding of all that radiant wonder 
which God had set about them ! 

How could it be done ? how could it even be 
begun ? Her mind was busy with the problem 
as well as with the constant thought of Kitty’s 
welfare during many a long ramble with Char- 
ley and Ben in those autumn days. 

Now and again Mrs. Redwood would accom- 
pany them, and then all Mysa’s store of bright- 


A fisherman’s daughter. ^135 

ness and good-cheer was brought into play for 
the benefit of her sad-eyed, faint-hearted mo- 
ther. She never talked as much as on these 
occasions, and she succeeded too in getting her 
mother to talk, at times freely and with much 
feeling. When once drawn into those confiden- 
tial and fearless talks, Mrs. Redwood always 
appeared to enjoy them and to experience a cer- 
tain relief from them. It rested and refreshed 
her too to sit with her daughter (sometimes 
with all the children, excepting of course Jeff) 
in the sunlight on the rocks and hear Mysa 
speak of the beauties which surrounded them. 
She appreciated those beauties more than she 
ever had before since first going among them 
as Jack Redwood’s fair young bride. She was 
beginning to find what comfort, what hope God 
sends us through nature. Sometimes, as long 
as the days continued mild enough, Mysa would 
take a book with her and read to them some 
favorite poem or sketch. If Kitty could be per- 
suaded to listen, for instance, to one of Irving’s 
pleasant stories, or something equally bright 
and natural, she would show real interest and 
appreciation, and on rare occasions would express 
a desire to read a thing for herself. Then in- 
deed was her sister’s eager heart delighted and 
grateful ! 

Yet far more frequently the wayward girl 


136 A fisherman's daughter. 

was not with the others of her family, but off on 
some ramble of her own, no one knew where. 

One day Mysa had gone to see a sick child at 
one of the fishermen’s cottages. It was a bright 
morning and the Harbor was alive with little 
fishing-boats. Some of the dainty craft owned 
or hired by the young men visitors were yet to 
be seen mingling with the older and homelier 
boats of the fisher-lads. 

Groups were moving here and there along 
the sunny shore. As Mysa drew near the cot- 
tage she was surprised to see Jack Greshom 
coming towards her.- He was in company with 
several young men, but istepped forward as soon 
as he saw Mysa. 

“Why, Miss Redwood, I am glad to meet 
you. The little folks are always asking me if I 
have seen you when I come down here, as if you 
played an important part in my fishing excur- 
sions.” 

“Then you are here for the fishing?” she 
said, smiling. 

“Yes, we are devoted disciples of old Izaak. 
Let me introduce my friends to you, Miss Red- 
wood,” he added, turning to the other young 
men. 

And then only as he repeated her name and 
she glanced towards them did she discover that 
one of the little group was the young man who 


A fisherman's daughter. 


137 


had in the early season spohen with Kitty at the 
postoffice. With the slightest possible formal 
acknowledgment of the introduction Mysa said, 
I am in haste, Mr. Greshom, so I will say good 
morning. And will you kindly remember me 
to the children ?” 

“ Certainly, Miss Redwood. I assure you 
that you are not forgotten in our household. 
Good morning.” 

She went into the cottage, and the young 
men glanced curiously one at another. 

“She doesn’t care to remember you. Jack, 
that ’s very plain,” said one, while Greshom 
looked puzzled and rather embarrassed. 

“ No, Greshom ’s all right, or he would have 
been if he hadn’t been seen in my company. 
I ’m the black sheep,” acknowledged the one 
whose conscience condemned him. 

“ You ? Why, you never met Miss Redwood, 
did you, Foster?” 

“ Oh yes, I ’ve seen the young lady before,” 
he said slowly as they moved on. 

Young Greshom ’s eyes blazed as a meaning 
smile was exchanged among the rest. 

“ I tell you, Foster, if you have been at any 
of your tricks here it will be worse for you, 
that ’s all,” he exclaimed angrily. 

“Come, Greshom, don’t get excited; the 
fish wont bite unless you are calm.” 


138 A fisherman’s daughter. 

“I don’t believe they will in any case,” said 
Foster coolly; “so I guess I wont go. You’ll 
find me at the hotel when you come back, unless 
I change my mind and follow after you.” 

He turned and sauntered slowly back along 
the shore. 

“ Pshaw ! that ’s too bad !” 

“ I guess his conscience is troubling him.” 

“ I do n’t think he has a conscience,” ex- 
claimed young Greshom in an indignant tone. 

He was not at all’ sorry to lose Foster from 
the party. 

“ Oh I do n’t think there ’s anything really 
wrong about Al,” said one. “ He must get his 
fun out of everything ; but he would n’t harm 
any one intentionally.” 

“ If he did n’t, it would only be his contemp- 
tible laziness which kept him from it. He thinks 
his money gives him liberty to go idling about, 
getting his ‘ fun,’ as you call it, at any one’s ex- 
pense.” 

“ I wonder if he ’s going to wait around till 
that young lady comes out of the fisherman’s 
house,” said one in an undertone to another 
while Greshom was helping to get the boat off. 

Mysa’s champion had not thought of that 
possibility. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


139 


XVI. 

When Mysa came out of the cottage Mr. 
Foster was sauntering along the shore idly cast- 
ing pebbles into the waves. She saw him after 
she had gone a fev/ yards, but hastened on with- 
out looking towards him. She did not, in truth, 
give much thought to him, for she was just then 
busily thinking how she could manage to help 
the young mother whose child was so ill. 

She was therefore quite startled when she 
heard a voice at her side saying, “Miss Red- 
wood, if I tell you that I am acquainted with 
your cousin Tom Barton, and that I have seen 
him very recently, I hope it may induce you to 
look upon me with less of indifference, not to 
say scorn.” 

As he spoke the signs of many varying emo- 
tions passed successively across Mysa’s face : 
first, indignation that this man should dare to 
follow her and address her, presuming upon an 
introduction which she could not well have re- 
fused, but which she had barely acknowledged ; 
then, at the mention of “ Cousin Tom’s ” name, 
a quick look upwards — a look so full of appeal- 
ing interest that Albert Foster would have been 
a worse man than he was to have seen it un- 


140 A fisherman's daughter. 

moved ; again, a sad disappointment, as though 
she felt no confidence in him who spoke the 
name. 

She made a movement as if she would go on, 
unheeding him. 

“Why, Miss Redwood, you surely do not 
think I am telling you a falsehood !” 

She turned her clear eyes upon his face and 
said, “ Do you think, sir, that you have given me 
cause for any trust in your word? Have you 
any message for me from my cousin?” 

“ Not exactly a message, but I can tell you a 
good deal that I think you might like to know. 
Your cousin Tom Barton and I are friends.” 

“ Oh !” She turned to walk away, adding 
quietly, “Well, it doesn’t matter.” 

He kept persistently at her side however, 
and during the few seconds of silence which fol- 
lowed Mysa was striving to decide whether she 
possibly had any duty to perform towards this 
man. 

“ I had hoped,” he began again in a different 
and rather more hesitating tone, “that my ac- 
quaintance with your cousin might lead you to 
look upon me with a little more charity perhaps, 
since Barton has told me so much of your un- 
varying kindness and readiness to overlook peo- 
ple’s faults.” 

“ I think, sir, you are rather presuming in 


A fisherman’s daughter. 141 

thrusting yourself upon my notice ; still, if there 
is anything I can do — for Tom’s sake — ” her 
voice broke slightly, and the man of the world 
was touched by it. All that was good and true 
in his nature was kindled into fresh life in the 
presence of this pure, fearless girl, who stood so 
away from him, self-contained, and unallured by 
any attraction which others of her sex had felt. 

Thank you ! It is only. Miss Redwood, that 
you will pardon my act of indiscretion committed 
in the early part of the season, and which has so 
brought upon me the weight of your anger and 
your ill opinion. I would like you to think of 
me with more favor and kindness.” 

Her face, as he turned to look at it, did not 
show any signs of “ favor.” 

‘‘Certainly, sir, it can matter very little to 
you what my opinion is. Your own conscience 
should be your guide in these matters.” 

“ My own inclinations have generally got the 
better of my conscience !” he acknowledged with 
a smile. 

“ Then it is scarcely worth while to waste my 
time or your own in talking to obtain my ‘ good 
opinion.’ ” 

“ Oh but I mean to do better. Miss Redwood ! 
At least I know my faults ; and that is ‘ half the 
battle,’ they say.” 

“ Yes,” she assented quietly, half vexed and 


142 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

half puzzled by his words, yet feeling all the 
time as if there might be a duty for her to fulfil 
towards this young man whose path had so 
strangely crossed and re-crossed her own. 

“ Yes ! So you see, having accomplished one 
half successfully, I am ready for the other ! I 
am not so bad as I may seem to you. Miss Red- 
wood. I honestly fancied your little sister ; she 
was so pretty! and I wanted to please her. I 
knew I was doing an indiscreet thing — an ^ abom- 
inable ’ thing, if you will ; but my intention was 
honest ; and no harm is done.” 

“No harm?” she repeated. “How do you 
know that ? A wrong act is always a harm done ! 
The doer may not see the effects, but others see 
them — and perhaps have to suffer, while he 
goes free. Do you think a stain on a young 
girl’s character is so light a thing and so easily 
wiped out ? Oh ! the truth is you think nothing 
about that! The gratification of the moment, 
the selfish pleasure or pastime, is all you give 
a thought to.” 

She paused an invStant half wondering at her- 
self, and again questioning if she could possibly 
have a duty in relation to this man other than 
to set her sister free from his unmeaning attem 
tions. 

“You are very hard upon me. Miss Red- 
vrood,” he said, looking curiously at her flushed 


A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. I43 

face, and yet half ashamed to meet the clear, un- 
flinching eyes of this pure, brave girl. 

“ Perhaps so. I would speak the same to any 
man, to my cousins, any one of them, if such 
need should ever be !” she added with a proud 
little smile, as if she had no fear of those young 
men. 

He started to say something and then 
checked himself suddenly. But her quick in. 
terest noted the movement, and she asked, 

“ Had you anything to say to me with regard 
to my cousin Tom, whom you say you know ?” 

“ No, Miss Redwood. Tom is well ; and he ’ll 
come out all right. You must be patient with us 
fellows, and not too hard upon us ! For myself,’"’ 
— as he saw signs of her departure — “ I want to 
promise you that you shall have nothing further 
to fear from me. I shall have my turn at the 
fishing and go away, perhaps never to visit the 
Harbor again. Think of me as kindly as you 
can, if only for Tom’s sake.” 

He held out his hand ; and she did not refuse 
to touch it, while, with flushed cheeks, yet with 
clear eyes looking into his, she said, 

“ I hope that both you and my cousin Tom 
will be true to the best and noblest that is in 
you !” 

She bowed her head and passed quickly on. 
He stood watching her with a sort of wondering 


144 A fisherman’s daughter. 

admiration.. She was different from any girl or 
woman whom he had ever known. Would not 
the world be better if there were more like her ? 
he questioned, as her slight, erect figure passed 
out of sight. 

“ Tom Barton, you ’ve a strong halter to keep 
you from running your foolish head into danger. 
You sha’n’t slip it, either, if I can help it!” he 
added, as he turned slowly away towards the 
boathouse. 

Mysa walked home thinking of Cousin Tom 
and wondering what she could do to help him. 
Why did he not come down to the Harbor? 
Why did he write so seldom and so little — he, 
who had been used to lean so upon her girlish 
sympathy and counsel ? Had he learned to do 
so well without them — and her ? The mere fact 
of his being intimate with this Mr. Foster gave 
her cause for anxiety. She was sorry to have 
her young cousin under such an example and in- 
fluence. Fie was not strong enough to resist 
them, and he had not yet fully learned where to 
find that strength in which he could “ do all 
things.” , 

Mysa was trying to make her plans for a busy 
winter. But this was the most dull and dreary 
time of all her young life. Things dragged like 
weights upon her spirits. All pleasant, conge- 
nial companionship seemed to have been ^grad- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 145 

ually taken from her. She had scarcely realized 
how it would be, after the summer v/as over 
and her new occupation and her kind friends 
gone. 

This meeting with young Mr. Greshom, and 
the message from his little sisters and brothers, 
had been like a breath of the cheerful, interest- 
ing life of the past summer. She had thought it 
all ended for ever, and herself forgotten, or at 
least shut out of those kind lives and hearts. 

She had told them at home of her meeting 
with Mr. Jack Greshom and his friends, but had 
carefully refrained from mentioning who was 
among those friends or associates. And that 
evening, as they sat by their early drift-wood 
fire, who should come to call but that very Jack 
Greshom himself — the same gentlemanly, yet 
bright, genial, merry young fellow whom they 
all remembered so well. 

Even Jeff thawed and greeted him cordially. 
‘‘ Here was a man, and not a silly dandy !” was 
the young fisherman's comment. He sat for an 
hour, enjoying the bright blaze, and talking with 
Mrs. Redwood about her husband’s voyages ; 
with Jeff of his fishing dangers ; and with Kitty 
of that gay city where • he dwelt, but which, he 
assured her, was not to be compared for a mo- 
ment to her home by the grand old sea. 

Then, as he rose to go, he asked iSlyScL if she 


10 


146 A fisherman’s daughter. 

would not go out with him “ for a breath of that 
delicious air.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Greshom, if mother will go 
too : for she needs often a sleeping-powder !” 

“ Certainly ! Pardon me, Mrs. Redwood. I 
shall feel honored if you will go. The night is 
grand.” 

Mysa and her mother were soon ready. 
When they had gone a few yards — leaving Miss 
Kitty giggling and grimacing behind the win- 
dow curtains— Mr. Jack said, “ I wanted to tell 
you. Miss Redwood, that you need not fear 
about the influence of Foster over your cousin. 
I saw that you were troubled at something, and 
I made Foster tell me the whole story. He is 
not really a bad fellow, Mrs. Redwood ” — turning 
to th^ mother with his gentlemanly tact — “ only 
conceited, and apt to follow the impulse of the 
moment without thinking of consequences. 
Young men get to know one another easily 
in the city, especially those who are fond of so- 
ciety. Your cousin. Miss Redwood, and young 
Foster have just launched out upon the top of 
that dazzling wave, and they are too bewitched 
and too eager to think of prudence. But do not 
fear ; I feel sure that young Barton has a strong 
anchor in his home which will hold him from 
going very far astray. I was afraid you might 
feel anxious after learning that Foster was an 


A fisherman’s daughter. 147 

acquaintance of your cousin. So I gave myself 
the pleasure of a stroll down to your quiet 
home.” 

Then he chatted with Mrs. Redwood, using 
such rare gentlemanly tact that the timid little 
fisher-wife was drawn out and away from her- 
self and her narrow record of home troubles and 
anxieties — led to speak, half unconsciously, of 
things which had been a familiar part of her 
girlhood life, but which had long been dim and 
out of mind. 

How Mysa thanked the young man in her 
heart, likening him to Paul or Gerald in his 
thoughtful unselfishness ; and that was the high- 
est compliment she could pay any man, to liken 
him to one of those cousins ! And he was 
amply rewarded by Mysa Redwood s look and 
word of thanks at parting. 

So very thoughtful of him, too, mother,” 
she said, as she bade her good-night in her own 
room ; “ so thoughtful not to speak of that Mr. 
Foster before Kitty, but to wait till you and I 
only were with him.” 

“ Yes ; he seems a very kind-hearted gentle- 
man, my dear. We do not often see such 
among the summer visitors here.” 


148 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XVII. 

'‘Are n’t you coming in, A1 ?” 

“ Oh no, I think not. Come, let ’s drop in at 
the Reading-rooms for a while and then get 
home early. Saturday night, you know !” 

“ Halloa ! what ’s the matter ? Are you turn- 
ing pious ? That ’s a good joke !” 

Tom Barton clapped his companion on the 
shoulder and laughed more loudly than 
heartily. 

“No, I’m not ‘turning’ anything! But I 
tell you what. Barton, if I had such a girl keep- 
ing watch over me as you have, I ’d do most 
anything rather than she should be ashamed 
of me !” 

“ What are you aiming at, A1 Foster ? Who 
is making any one ashamed ?” the younger lad 
exclaimed impatiently, stopping in his easy 
sauntering and turning a flushed face towards 
his companion. 

“ There, do n’t get into a state, please ! It ’s 
your lookout, not mine. I only tell you how I' 
would act if I were in your lucky place !” 

“ Well, you are not, you know. So come on, 
let ’s go in and see Jim for a while.” 

“ I tell you I wont, Tom Barton ! I want to 


A fisherman’s daughter. 149 

go to the Library, and I want you to come with 
me !” 

He took Tom’s arm and drew him slowly on 
as he spoke, in a determined way which was 
quite unusual to him, and which, of itself, held 
his companion’s attention as they went a certain 
distance. 

“1 don’t see what has come over you, ‘A1 
Foster ! Let go of me, will you ?” 

He jerked himself free of Foster’s detaining 
hand, laughing, yet half vexed at the decidedly 
new turn which affairs had taken. “If you will 
tell me honestly what has got into you, Foster, 
to make you act in this absurd way, why, I 
promise to go wherever you like!” he said at 
length, with a questioning glance into the face 
of his companion, which was usually so calm 
and betrayed nothing. 

“ It’s a bargain !” replied Foster, after a mo- 
ment of hesitation. In that moment the whole 
scene passed before him — the quiet seashore, 
the fair young girl standing so fearlessly before 
him to utter her words of truth and soberness, 
and that quick look of interest and anxiety 
which changed her calm face at the mention of 
her cousin Tom’s name — he felt mean even 
yet as he remembered it all. A strong impulse 
to atone, in as far as he could, had come over 
him. 


150 A fisherman’s daughter. 

“ Tom,” he began, in a subdued sort of tone, 
“ I do n’t pretend to much sentiment, you know 
that ; but I can tell the difference between a 
pretty girl who cares only to have a pleasant 
time with you — and perhaps at your expense — 
and a womanly girl who considers you of 
enough value to speak sharply and bravely to 
^ you, telling you of your faults in the hope of 
making you a better man, and — ” he paused, 
and Tom waited, wondering. 

The pause lasted so long that he finally 
looked up into his friend’s face, and was struck 
with the change he saw there. The indifferent, 
cynical look was softened into one of real feel- 
ing. It made the young man’s face pleasant to 
look upon. Tom Barton, like many another 
young man, was ashamed to show any emotion. 
He had gone a step beyond his boyhood, and 
thought it manly to laugh at sentiment, to ig- 
nore womanly counsel, and to put away the old 
boyish thoughts of prayer and faith. So he 
laughed as he looked upon his friend’s face and 
said, “ Well, I must say, Foster, I thought you 
were too wise to be drawn into any woman’s 
pretty net ! Go on ; let ’s hear how she did it !” 

He seemed to have forgotten that his com- 
panion had already spoken of one particular 
woman, who was not his own but Tom’s special 
guardian friend. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 15 I 

“ I want you to understand, Tom, my boy, 
that I ’m talking in. sober earnest to-night, and 
I do n’t want you to shut down on me ! It ’s all 
very well to talk about women. Sometimes I 
think I ’ve never known a true woman in all my 
life ! But I guess that ’s my own fault. I think 
if I had known a girl who was brave enough to 
tell me of my own faults — as your cousin, Miss 
Redwood, did last summer, I should have had 
sense enough and pride enough to follow her 
advice. And if I were you — ” 

“ Come, Foster, you ’ve said that already 
once or twice ! I do n’t want to hear it again ! 
Tell me where and when you met my cousin, 
and let the rest of it remain unsaid. I ’m quite 
able to imagine it all.” 

They had entered the Reading-rooms and 
were seated in one, in a quiet corner. Foster 
felt himself ‘*a great bungler.” He meant to 
have done the right and helpful thing, but he 
did not know how. So he quietly told Tom the 
whole story of his stay at Graves’ Harbor and 
how he had met Miss Redwood. He passed 
lightly over Kitty’s girlish folly, taking blame 
upon himself for all. 

Tom looked at him in surprise. It was alto- 
gether a new thing to hear Albert Foster talk- 
ing in such a way. 

“ Do you know, Tom, I never felt meaner in 


152 A FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 

my life than I did when your cousin told me so 
plainly, yet so kindly, what sort of a fellow I 
was. If it had been an old lady, or even one of 
middle age, I should have listened and respect- 
ed her words, perhaps remembered them ; but a 
girl, a handsome young girl, who might very 
naturally give her thoughts to herself and her 
own attractions — that such a one should speak 
to me as Miss Redwood did, makes me rever- 
ence her and every word she uttered. I only 
regret that my acquaintance with you began at 
the close of her three years among your family.” 

He paused a little, but the younger man 
seemed to have nothing to say. He lay back in 
the big chair with his eyes fixed on the floor, 
and apparently he was not specially concerned 
in his friend’s narrative. 

As he did not speak Foster went on : 

“ I wish I had some one — a girl like that — to 
feel an interest in me and in what I do. I ’ve 
had a pretty scant life of it as far as such helps 
go. I can only just remember my mother; 
never had any sisters; and as to cousins,” he 
shrugged his shoulders meaningly, “ they 
would n’t touch me with the tips of their dainty 
fingers. If I should ask for their ‘ prayers ’ even, 
I ’m afraid they would politely decline taking 
any stock in such a ‘ forlorn hope.’ But you, 
Tom Barton, you,” he cried, jumping up and 


A fisherman’s daughter. 153 

clapping two strong hands on the lad’s shoul- 
ders, while he stooped to look into his face with 
eyes that held a suspicious moisture, of which he 
did not seem to be at all ashamed — “ you, my 
boy, go home, I tell you, and give thanks for 
your mother and your cousin.” 

He had not spoken loudly, but his quick 
movement attracted the attention of several who 
were standing in a little group together. Tom 
rose and addressed them laughingly. 

“ I give you my word he is perfectly sober, 
but some strange freak has come over him. I ’ll 
leave him to your gentle care. Don’t let him 
follow me. I confess I am rather afraid of him. 
Good night.” 

“ Tom,” called Foster in a low, clear voice, 
which arrested the lad on the threshold — “ Tom, 
are you going directly home ?” 

“ Yes, Foster, I am going straight home, and 
don’t you disturb yourself in the least. Good- 
by, old fellow.” 

“You may say good-by if you like,” the 
young man thought to himself as his companion 
disappeared, “but you are not quit of me yet. 
If I have unconsciously helped you out of the 
right road I ’ll at least do my best to get you 
safely back that far.” 

Ah, that is so much easier to say than it is to 
do ; and I think Albert Foster knew it. He sat 


154 A fisherman's daughter. 

gloomily musing without looking up or speak- 
ing for some time after Tom’s departure. At 
length one of the men who sat near called to 
him, “Are you dreaming, Foster, or what ails 
you ?” 

He looked up with a troubled face. 

“ I ’m afraid that boy is going wrong,” he 
said, and there was that in his tone which no 
one present had ever heard before. He had not 
been a frequent visitor at the Rooms, but had 
held his place there perhaps for that very rea- 
son. It was a little link which bound him to 
nobler ways, and he would not easily break it. 
His intimate associates were not there, but there 
were those there whom he respected, and he 
spoke to them now as he could not have spoken 
to his more free and intimate companions. 

“ I am afraid that boy is going wrong.” 

“ He seems to feel pretty sure of himself, at 
all events.” 

“Yes, that is where the trouble is.” 

“Well, Foster, do what you can for the boy, 
and let us know if we can give you a lift. Bring 
him in here as often as you like.” 

“ Thanks. I brought him in to-night just to 
get him out of mischief ; but I fairly had to drag 
him along.” 

Albert Foster went home. The inmates of 
that home looked up in astonishment as he 


A fisherman's daughter. 155 

walked in. It was a rare thing for him to show 
himself before the household retired for the 
night. His father, looking up from his evening 
paper, merely said, “Well, Albert,” and lost 
himself in politics again. His second wife— 
whom Albert never could call “ mother,” for she 
was too young — and her sister greeted the young 
man with smiles and cordial words. 

One was running her fingers softly over the 
piano-keys ; the other was knitting up some 
pretty fleecy wools. He stood a moment watch- 
ing the two pairs of white, womanly hands. 

“ Why could not these have reached me with 
that touch of help ?” he asked. “ These women 
care for me ; they are kind ; they want me with 
them ; and yet these gentle hands have never 
touched me with any appeal such as thrilled me 
with shame and sorrow when that stranger-girl 
held out her pure, brave hands to keep her fool- 
ish little sister from me.” 

He went up to his room wondering at the 
difference. But it was only the difference be- 
tween caring for others and caring for self — 
between a life lived as the child of a King, doing 
service always for him, and a life lived without 
any special aim or purpose. The King’s true 
daughter lives ever with her thoughts on his 
great work, to be wrought out in little daily acts 
and services by patient, ready, willing hands. 


156 A fisherman’s daughter. 

And so it came to pass that this King’s daugh- 
ter down by the sea had done more and greater 
than she knew. Her loving hands, reaching out 
to help one, had wrought link after link in a 
chain of gracious uplifting stretching far beyond 
her ken, but all noted in her Father’s Book of 
Remembrance. 

And it was far less easy to Mysa than it 
sounds in the telling. All that she accom- 
plished was done by efforts which very often 
were trying to her, and from which she had a 
natural shrinking, as we all have from that 
which is not pleasant and enjoyable. The only 
way in which she was able to do what she did 
was by taking only one day’s work into her 
thoughts and prayers at a time. Otherwise her 
courage must surely have failed her and her 
heart have sunk under its burden. Even as it 
was, no one but God, who was ever watching 
and helping her, knew how often Mysa grew 
faint and weary, nor how often she found her- 
self looking back to that pleasant, easy life 
which she had of her own free will given up for 
Jesus’ sake ! 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


157 


XVIII. 

It was a long winter, broken by no visits to 
the city. Uncle Barton’s family saw no one 
from “down there” to tell them how it fared 
with Mysa, whom they loved so well. She 
wrote that mother was so troubled at not hear- 
ing from father that she could not be persuaded 
to leave home. 

It was very true that not a word or line had 
come to tell them of the wanderings of fisher- 
man Redwood and Capt. Antonio. 

“ It has never been so before in all the years 
we have been married,” said poor Mrs. Red- 
wood, with her tears no longer restrained. 

The shadow of anxiety touched them all, 
with varying results. Mrs. Redwood went list- 
lessly about her home, no longer with that vigor 
and quiet steadiness which had been habitual to 
her. She would drop into her easy-chair often, 
sitting there with pathetic eyes and a pale face, 
regardless of the household duties which she 
had never yet been fully persuaded to leave for 
others. The first few times that her mother did 
so Mysa was well pleased, thinking that the rest 
would be beneficial. But soon it began to 


158 A fisherman’s daughter. 

trouble her, for she saw her mother growing 
white, and evincing no interest in the household 
affairs which had formerly so absorbed her 
thoughts. 

“Mother, aren’t you going to make Jeff’s 
favorite pudding? or will you teach me how to 
do it?” Mysa would ask ; receiving, perhaps, for 
answer a listless “Not to-day, my child.” 

Jeff was moody and silent. When he did 
speak it was often to rebuke some one — his mo- 
ther, for “ lack of faith his sisters, for “ frivol- 
ity,” or for not fulfilling some duty ; the chil- 
dren, for making too much noise, or for bringing 
in some “ trash ” from the shore. 

Kitty’s constant excuse for absenting herself 
was that she “couldn’t stand” such growling 
and fault-finding! She preferred to go where 
she could see a little fun and life. “ I know you 
try,” she said to Mysa, “but you can’t make out 
much — nobody can do anything by them- 
selves !” Then, at such an error in her speech, 
perhaps Mysa would merrily exclaim that she 
was shocked, and that Kitty must have an hour 
or two of grammar and reading each day, or she 
would never dare to show herself at Uncle 
Barton’s. 

These lessons and readings really had been 
undertaken at the first of the winter ; but Kitty 
was very changeable, and not always ready to 


A fisherman’s daughter. 159 

acknowledge her deficiency ; and when a really 
rebellious spirit seized her, Mysa knew that 
there would be no force in any argument. 
There were indeed times during that period of 
anxiety when Kitty’s true womanly feeling 
seemed to come to light, changing her com- 
pletely. 

“Don’t fret, mother!’’ she would urge ; “you 
know how often the sailors and fishermen here 
have been gone months and months without 
their people hearing of them. There was 
Aleck Reed, don’t you remember, and Capt. 
Pease? Why, I can’t really see any reason for 
worrying so. Capt. Tony is a good sailor, and 
we all know father is. They’ll come back all 
right, you may be sure.” And, strange to say, 
the timid mother seemed to take courage and 
hope from the words of this wayward girl, who 
would very likely break out into some gay sailor 
ditty, and go off making music along the lonely 
shore. 

Only the little ones, with Mysa for their 
teacher and guide, kept steadfastly cheerful 
during that time of trouble, w^hen the fierce 
winter shut the little hamlet away from the 
happier world of civilization and creature 
comforts. 

Up to the Christmas holidays the shadows 
were comparatively light and the full fierceness 


i6o A fisherman’s daughter. 

of the winter storms had not fallen upon them. 
Mysa, who had passed three or four happy 
Christmas seasons in the midst of the glad asso- 
ciations of a loving home, knew quite well the 
kind of Holy Day she would like to make this 
coming Christmas in her own home. But she 
realized that she must be satisfied with humble 
results ; she could not attain all her ambitions 
at once. 

The little ones entered into her plans heart- 
ily, it was all so new and so fine to them. 
“ Like they do at Uncle Barton’s,” was their 
watchword in those days of preparation, and 
their little fingers were very busy over the mod- 
est presents which sister Mysie taught them to 
make. 

“ If we could have a Christmas party, that 
would be something worth while !” was Kitty’s 
half-hearted comment upon the proceedings. 

“ We ’re going to have a party. Kit ! a home 
party — Mysie says so.” 

“And we may have some visitors come in ; 
who can tell? We’ll have a Christmas cake 
ready at any rate, if you will help, Kitty. And 
we ’ll see if we can find any evergreens back on 
the hill. Mr. Greshom told me he had seen 
some there.” 

Mysa watched her sister’s eyes till she saw 
the sparkle come and grow there. 


A fisherman’s daughter. l6l 

'‘And we want Kitty to learn to sing a pretty 
Christmas carol, because it wont be like Christ- 
mas without it, and I know a beautiful one. 
Charley shall speak a piece about St. Nicholas, 
and if mother would not mind, we might have 
some little boys and girls to hear him.” 

Then she told them how the churches had 
Sunday-schools where Uncle Barton lived, and 
how every Sunday-school had a happy time at 
Christmas, and the boys and girls received pres- 
ents or gave to poorer ones. Then, as a great 
secret, she told them how she wanted to have a 
Sunday-school down there, and perhaps it might 
come from the Christmas gathering, if they had 
one. She thought the children ought to have 
something. They could not understand all that 
was preached in church, and so they did not go, 
many of them. But if there was a Sunday- 
school on purpose for them, they would like it 
perhaps ; and then, only think how much good 
might be done in that way ! 

Charley said that one of the boys told him of 
something like that which the children had at 
the new boarding-house last summer. 

“ I guess I heard them singing one after- 
noon, too,” Kitty said. “ Somebody was playing 
the ' piano, and I was going along shore, so I 
stopped to listen.” 

“ Will you help me if I start one, Kitty 

• II 


1 62 A fisherman’s daughter. 

Of course I ’ll help. But you ’ll have a 
queer lot with the small fry down here, Mysie ! 
They’ll just stare like jelly-fish, and wonder 
what sort of bait you’re going to throw down.” 

“ I will soon make that plain to them,” re- 
plied Mysa, smiling. 

And thus they planned and talked, while the 
busy fingers of the elder sister were never idle. 
Something for household use or ornament was 
always growing to completion under her neat 
and dexterous touch. The constant example was 
not lost upon the careless Kitty. She did not 
say much, but' she was learning to admire and 
emulate her elder sister. Silent, steadfast ex- 
ample is very often stronger than words. 

Another thing which helped was the fact 
that Mysa never seemed to be setting an exam- 
ple for any one to follow. She never acted as if 
she meant to say, “ See me, and notice how 
much better my way is!” She only lived on in 
her bright, cheerful, fearless way, not apparently 
thinking of herself at all. And so Kitty began 
to get some faint idea of the beauty of such a 
life, and to wish that she could live so. She 
never knew how often her sister prayed for her ; 
nor yet how often that sister’s hope and courage 
grew faint; how she longed for some strong 
help herself — such as she once gained from con- 
verse with her aunt. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 163 

No one ever knew how long and dreary that 
winter loomed up before Mysa’s vision. It was 
only as she took it day by day, and in loving- 
obedience to her Father’s will, that she suc- 
ceeded in living it so bravely and with such 
good cheer. Humble as her lot was, she yet 
knew vshe was the daughter of a King, and that 
the record of her simple daily service was set 
side by side with that of higher and greater 
workers. 

God is very gracious in this, that he gives us 
only one day at a time to live and bear and 
work. The bravest heart would falter and fail 
if the whole path which we must tread should be 
spread clear before our vision. 

God’s love decrees it shall be but one step at 
a time ; and that, if we will, with our hands in 
his. 

So the days went on at Mysa’s home, and her 
little Christmas scheme prospered and grew. 
The fisher folk were glad to have their little 
ones noticed and cared for. They considered it 
very kind in “ Miss Mysie.” to take such trouble, 
and were quite willing to “ meet her half way.” 
The School Committee said she might have the 
use of the schoolhouse for her Sunday-school. 
But Mysa preferred starting in her own house. 

Graves’ Harbor was only just beginning to at- 
tract people in the summer. Many of them be- 


164 A fisherman’s daughter. 

longed to the class of persons who do not throw 
off their religion and their religious duties when 
they go away for a season of rest and vacation, 
and it was quite likely that these new-comers 
would soon see the need of a permanent church 
building and a minister there. So far, sum- 
mer services had been held in the parlors of 
hotels and boarding-houses, with an occasional 
“preaching” through the winter season at the 
schoolhouses of the upper and lower villages. 
Mysa’s little Sunday-school would be, for the 
present, all her own ; but she hoped soon to be 
able to pass it on to the Harbor church. 

The Christmas feast was a sort of surprise 
party. All the boys and girls who would prom- 
ise to join the Sunday-school the next Sunday 
were invited to meet at Miss Redwood’s on 
Christmas afternoon. They came in force ; and 
Mysa’s tree, which had been secured through the 
exertions of Cousin Gregory, who had come 
down to help, and Charley, was a complete sur- 
prise in its pretty adornments and the tapers 
sent by Aunt J ulie. 

It was quite a new thing to the Harbor chil- 
dren. And even Mrs. Redwood felt cheered and 
brightened by the merry games played around 
it and by the evident happiness of the young 
people. 

Jeff did not exactly disapprove of his sister’s 


A’ fisherman’s daughter. 165 

Sunday-school plan ; yet he did not enter into it 
heartily, with offers of help, as she had hoped he 
would. 

Gregory insisted on making out a list of the 
things she would need and carrying it away in 
his pocket. 

“ Are n’t there four big fellows up there wait- 
ing to be allowed to do something for the sister 
who has done so much for them?” he asked, 
with boyish pride. 


A FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER. 


1 66 


XIX. 

The long winter passed slowly. Its story for 
Mysa was simply one of effort, constant effort, 
with now and then a bright ray here or there to 
encourage her, and far more often the gloom of 
discouragement on every hand. 

What then ? Was she to give up ? She did 
not mean to ; and the thought of those about her 
who were dependent upon her for help and 
guidance and cheerfulness kept her from yield- 
ing to discouragement. 

Do you think hers was a dull and dreary life, 
the simple, unadorned story of a girl’s life, set in 
a quiet spot away from excitement and the 
glory of riches, barren of “ society’s ” fascina- 
tion and the whispers of idle fancy or silly curi- 
osity ? 

Or do you, perhaps, say to yourself with a 
sigh, “ Ah ! that is like my life ; nothing ever 
happens: just dull, every-day routine, so tire- 
some and meaningless !” 

Well, I tell you truly that the very happiest 
life of all is the one which moves calmly on, 
making its own music of patience and willing- 
ness, securing its hour -by -hour satisfaction 
through duties well performed and plans unself- 


A fisherman's daughter. 167 

ishly wrought out, waiting calmly for what God 
has in store, fearless and contented ; a life which 
binds itself to the lives about it in daily interest 
and generous friendship ! 

It sounds humble. It is humble. But at its 
end — and oh how little and how short the way is 
after all ! — at its end lies heaven, the land 
whose joy is so great that no words have ever 
been able to reveal it to us. There the King 
keeps place for all his daughters. If your home 
on earth is small and humble, and your path of 
life circumscribed, there you may dwell for ever 
in the midst of your Father’s bounty and know 
no lack. 

Mysa was young ; she was far from perfect. 
She stumbled often ; her heart grew cold and 
rebellious at times ; she longed for the things 
which she had known, which were pleasanter to 
a young girl than the daily duties and simple 
joys of a fisherman’s home at Graves’ Harbor. 
Yet, through all, she held fast. And do you 
suppose God ever leaves alone one child who 
really tries to do his will and prays for grace to 
do it? No indeed ! His loving eye was follow- 
ing every step of Mysa’s humble way. His hand 
upheld her in many a weary time, and his Spirit 
sent sweet hope and cheer to her heart in hours 
of discouragement and failure. 

So, though she did not even realize it, the life 


i68 A fisherman’s daughter. 

she had accepted was daily growing better and 
larger and brighter. Her golden chain of gen- 
erous purposes was lengthening, link by link, 
faster than she knew. It caught up many a life 
here or there, of which only God knew. Little 
children, old people, even the rough fisher-lads, 
learned truth and honor from Mysa’s Redwood’s 
example and words. Many a*lonely heart, dur- 
ing that long winter, thanked God that “ Miss 
Mysie ” had come back to live among them ! 
Many a half-hearted prayer was turned to a fer- 
vent cry of faith after Mysa had told how God 
listens to prayer and wants us to trust our ab- 
sent dear ones to his loving care. 

“ Where are you going in all this storm, My- 
sie ?” her mother would ask sometimes, as she 
saw her daughter donning waterproof and boots, 
preparing to start out. 

“Just to look in at old Mrs. Pease to say a 
word of cheer this dull day ; the poor old woman 
frets so after her grandson.” 

And perhaps Charley would get permission 
to accompany her on some of these errands of 
good-will. She always liked to have him, if 
mother was willing he should go. And the lit- 
tle fellow was learning lessons better than any 
books or any direct teaching could give him — 
lessons that would last through life and make 
him nobler and truer. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 169 

A chivalrous devotion to sister Mysa had 
sprung up in his heart and was growing daily. 
He would watch the sad faces, the weary and 
listless and careless ones, brighten as Mysa 
talked, and he wondered at the power she 
seemed to have over people. Even an unruly 
fisher-boy would be led to do the right thing 
and to speak awkward words of sorrow for his 
misdemeanor under Mysa’s influence. It might 
be just the touch of her gentle hand on the 
rough jacket and a softly spoken “ O Harry ! 
the dear mother who is so proud of her boy !” 
And in a minute the repentant “ boy ” would be 
back in the cottage with his rebellious heart 
softened and full of a loving willingness to do 
what was required. 

Whatever it was, little Charley was deeply 
impressed, and he used to wonder at times how 
they had ever gone on at the Harbor without 
Mysie. How had things been during her ab- 
sence at Uncle Barton’s? 

“ Mysie,” he said one day after waiting for 
her on the doorstep of a cottage and hearing the 
kind, persuasive sound of her voice inside as she 
talked to the fisherman who had broken his leg 
and was terribly vexed at being laid up and un- 
able to work — “ Mysie, I think you would have 
been such a good one to go about with Jesus 
when he was in the world. I know his disciples 


170 A fisherman’s daughter. 

were all raen, but I ’m sure Jesus would have 
liked you, ’cause you talk so kind and nice and 
make people understand so.” 

“ O Charley boy,” she answered, putting her 
arm about him, while glad tears filled her eyes, 
“ I hope Jesus likes to have me now, even if I 
can do ever so little for him.” 

She had been telling the children in Sunday- 
school about the Saviour’s work on earth, of his 
going from place to place healing and blessing, 
teaching and saving ; and the simple instruction 
was remembered and stored away in other young 
hearts as well as in Charley’s. 

Not the least of Mysa’s undertakings was 
that of making her own home better and bright- 
^ er. That was, in fact, her first and chief duty. 

She had asked her brother Jeff once why he 
did not have family prayers. 

“ I am sure mother would like it, and indeed 
we all should. Ought we not, Jeff ?” 

But he had turned her off with some bluff 
excuse, of which she could only distinguish 
something about “looking after number one” 
and “ Kitty being taught to say her prayers at 
her bedside.” Mysa did not see what good ex- 
cuse he could offer, yet she knew Jeff would not 
be persuaded into it if he were opposed to it. 
All she could do was to hope and wait. 

On Sunday evenings she always had her 


A fisherman’s daughter. 171 

‘‘ sing ” with mother and the children, in which 
Kitty usually joined, unless on some specially 
fine evening, when she would go off for a ram- 
ble with the fisher lads and lasses. 

Occasionally a prayer-meeting in the Harbor 
schoolhouse brought all the fisher-folks together. 

One of the most unexpected and one of the 
pleasantest of all Mysa’s undertakings that win- 
ter was the forming of a circle of young girls, 
some younger than Kitty and some older than 
Mysa herself, for the purpose of reading and 
general improvement. It came about in this 
way. Some one was speaking of George Gra- 
ham, and one of the girls remarked that he 
would be so wise when he had gone through 
college that he “wouldn’t care to speak with 
any of them.” 

“I don’t think George will ever be like 
that,” Mysa answered, laughing; “he cares too 
much for his old friends. But at the same time, 
if I were you, I would show him that I could 
make myself companionable for him. I would 
interest myself in books ; I would read and 
study, so that not only George Graham, but any 
other intelligent man or woman, would be will- 
ing and glad to talk with me.” 

“Oh, that’s very well for you, Mysie, but 
how can we do it ?” 

“ Will you try if I tell you the way ?” 


172 A fisherman’s daughter. 

“ Why, yes, if we have the time,” one said, 
and another replied doubtfully, while Kitty’s 
eyes shone and her cheeks glowed, but she said 
not a word. 

Mysa thought for a moment, and then she 
said slowly and clearly, “ Let us form a little 
class for reading and study and conversation. I 
will help you, and that will help me, so that I 
shall not forget what I have learned. It will be 
pleasant too, and we can manage so that it need 
not take too much time. We will arrange to 
suit each one.” 

Then she asked each one of those who were 
present if she would join the little circle, not 
omitting her sister Kitty. They all seemed 
pleased, and ready enough too, only somewhat 
bashful. 

“ We do n’t know anything. Miss Mysie,” said 
one, who understood quite well what made her 
companions hesitate. It was the fact of their 
own ignorance and their dislike to having it 
displayed. 

“ Never mind how little or how much we 
know now, Chatty. It is what we mean to know 
that is of the most importance.” 

And so in her own pleasant, kindly way she 
drew them on till they had pledged themselves 
to join and to bring their girl friends. 

Mysa could see that Kitty was interested. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 173 

“ It will be so pleasant, Kitty,” she said as 
they walked home in the keen wintry air. 

“Yes, they all seemed to tackle on,” replied 
Kitty rather thoughtfully. 

“ Sea phrases will not be allowed in our cir- 
cle,” said her sister slyly, smiling. 

“ What did I say?” asked Kitty, who seemed 
to be in a maze of thought. 

“ Tackle on,” replied Mysa soberly, and they 
both laughed merrily. 


1/4 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XX. 

I SHALL be going out in the schooner next 
week,” Jeff announced one evening as they sat 
over the fire after he came in before separating 
for the night. 

“Next week?” repeated his mother with 
rather a startled look. “ Who is going ?” 

“ Cap’n Drake. He wants the same crew he 
had last time.” 

Mrs. Redwood sighed. She remembered 
that “ last time ” so well, and how proud his 
father had been when Capt. Drake had said on 
his return that “ Jeff Redwood was the best fish- 
erman he had on board ; his trawling was not 
drawling^ With which enormous joke the lame 
schooner-master had gone hobbling away, chuck- 
ling and nodding his curly gray head. 

“Do you enjoy the deep-sea fishing, Jeff?” 
asked his sister Mysa, wondering how her bro- 
ther felt at starting on one of those toilsome and 
dangerous voyages. 

“ Oh, I do n’t take any reckoning of enjoy- 
ment,” he replied with a slight laugh. “ I go to 
catch fish, and all I ask for is a fairly good 
haul.” 

“I’d like. to go myself,” cried Kitty. “It 


A fisherman’s daughter. 175 

must be great fun out on the deep water in a 
little dory singing against the wind, ‘ Ship 
ahoy 

She put up her closed hands and called 
through them in clear, sweet, ringing tones. 

“ Oh yes, you ’d be worth a heap in a dory,” 
replied her brother with a sneer. ‘‘ It ’s not just 
singing and playing at such times, I can tell 
you.” 

“ It must be grand though. I wish Capt. 
Drake would take me along.” 

“ What ails you, Kitty ?” asked her mother 
half fretfully. 

“ The sea, I guess,” the girl answered with a 
flash in her eyes and an odd little smile on her 
lips. 

“She is a true fisherman’s daughter,” said 
Mysa, looking at her sister’s bright face with a 
feeling of loving pride. 

She recalled her father’s fond admiration of 
his pretty daughter, and hoped that, if God ever 
sent that father back to them in answer to their 
prayers, he would find Kitty a truer, nobler girl 
than when he had left her. 

All the little hamlet was busy over the de- 
parture of the schooner for the deep-sea grounds. 

Men, women, and children, old and young, 
were interested. The weather-worn schooner 
had gone on many a voyage out of the harbor. 


176 A fisherman’s daughter. 

watched by eager, interested eyes. Her master 
was a favorite along the shore. His halting step 
was always greeted cordially as it paused at a 
cottage door, and the little children within had 
hopes of wonderful “sailor stories.” The fisher- 
lads all liked to go out with “ Cap’n Drake and 
the timid mothers and young wives were strong 
in their trust of one who seemed to carry youth 
still in his heart though his hair was thin and 
white. 

Lying out where the breeze shook her was 
the schooner, battered like her master by many 
a gale, gray with age and furrowed by time, but 
sound and of good courage yet. 

And the old fisherman trod her deck with 
head erect and a light of proud content in his 
keen gray eyes. 

“We shall have a fair set-off, boys,” he said 
as he scanned the sky the evening before they 
started. “ It is the new-year voyage and ought 
to bring us all good luck.” 

He paused and looked with kindly sympathy 
towards Mrs. Redwood, who had been persuaded 
into walking along the shore to the bustling 
scene of preparation for the departure at dawn 
on the morrow. 

He appeared to wish to say something cheer- 
ing and comforting to the troubled wife. 

“ The old ocean has been a good friend to us. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 177 

Mrs. Redwood, all these years. We wont fear 
it and mistrust it now. The Almighty holds it 
in the hollow of his hand,” he added reverently. 

Then in a cheery tone he said to Jeff, who 
was busy near by, I miss the hearty help of 
Jack Redwood’s word of advice ; ay, I do, there ’s 
no steering clear of that. He was always ready 
to throw his comrades a line ; and he knew how 
to do it too. I hope he may be the first one to 
hail us home when we heave in sight of the old 
Harbor shore.” 

Several echoed the hope, for Jack Redwood 
had been a power in his way among the fisher- 
folk. 

So the people in the neighborly little gather- 
ing talked and watched and wondered, while the 
men made ready for their sailing. 

By-and-by a sharp, frosty wind sprang up and 
drove the “ women folks ” home. 

It was a strange life, that of these fisher-peo- 
ple — a life full of danger and hardship, yet also 
one of peculiar fascination. 

Mysa heard Kitty chatting with George Gra- 
ham’s mother. “ Yes,” she agreed with the vig- 
orous old woman, who had been born and bred 
and had lived always by the sea — “ yes, I think 
so too ; a deal better. What is there in books 
and dry old studies half so splendid and grand 
as the sea ? He need n’t have been a fisherman 


12 


178 A fisherman’s daughter. 

if he did n’t like that ; but he might have gone 
off on some great, wonderful voyage. He could 
learn enough that way. Why, I often think I ’d 
like to be a sailor myself,” added the impetuous 
girl, bursting into a gay sea-ballad ; at which 
the “ boys ” took off their caps and cheered lus-^ 
tily. 

“O Kitty !” said Mysa. 

And “ O Mysa !” mocked Kitty, who seemed 
to have caught a bit of the wild sea-nature with 
its dash and sparkle and foam. 

“ But I thought you liked Mr. Graham’s go- 
ing to college, Kitty,” her sister said when they 
were sitting quietly at home that night. 

“ Oh well, so I do, Mysie ; but it all seems so 
slow, such a trudging and drudging sort of way. 
And sometimes I think, if I had been a man, 
I ’d show you all what a grand thing a sailor’s 
life might be, or a fisherman’s life either. It’s 
a wide-awake life. And talk about learning — 
my ! — I reckon there ’s more in the old ocean 
and under it than in all the old college books ! 
I ’m going to get a diver’s suit some day and go 
down to find out for myself.” 

“ O Kit, you crazy girl !” cried out Charley, 
who sat with his slate and pencil near by and 
was attracted by his sister’s bold declaration. 

Mysa smiled and began to repeat bits of 
poems about the sea with such clear, true em- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 179 

phasis that Kitty’s eyes were soon fixed upon 
her face and shining with an appreciative de- 
light. 

‘“Coral and sea-fan and tangle ; 

the blooms and the palms of the ocean. 

“ ‘ Silvery fish, wreathed shell, and the 

strange little things of the waters.’ 

“ ‘ Rose from their seaweed chamber 

the choir of the mystical sea-maids.’ ” 

'‘Yes, that’s it. See, Charley? That suits 
me,” said Kitty. 

But now there was beneath the teasing non- 
sense a light of real pleasure and comprehension 
upon her face. 

“You will find — I think we shall all find — 
that Mr. Graham’s college education will only 
make him enjoy the great beauty and wonder 
of the sea more than ever. Education always 
opens our minds and hearts to understand beau- 
tiful things.” 

“ Oh, I dare say he ’ll come out all right in 
the end ; but it ’s a long pull.” 

The girl pretended to yawn and to consider 
the topic wearisome. 

“I don’t see why people weren’t put in their 
right places, anyhow — among the things they 
like and can enjoy.” 

“ But, Kitty, we were not put here just to en- 
joy things. We have a work to do. We are not 


i8o A fisherman’s daughter. 

to live for ourselves ; we are to care for others 
and help them. I think that is why some things 
are left out of some lives and put in others — to 
teach us to be sympathetic and generous, to 
give and take in a friendly, loving spirit.” 

“ I ’d like then to ‘ take ’ some girl’s hand- 
some city house, with her silk dresses and balls 
and parties ; and I reckon I ’d get the best of 
the bargain, for I couldn’t give her much.” 

You are such a child, Kitty,” exclaimed her 
mother petulantly. “ Only a few minutes ago 
you were praising up the ocean and saying how 
grand a fisherman’s life was, and — ” 

Might be, I said, mother. But anyhow I ’d 
rather have the other. Just think what a differ- 
ent kind of time girls in cities are having this 
winter. My! I wonder if George has got ac- 
quainted with any of them ? I dare say.” 

It seemed strange to Mysa that her sister 
could be so frivolous on the eve of J eff ’s depart- 
ure on a dangerous trip, and that too when no 
knowledge of her father had yet been obtained. 

Still she had seen so many fishing vessels go 
and return that it was a familiar thought to her 
and had not the awe for her which it had to 
those less accustomed to it. 

Mysa taught the boys a little prayer to say 
for the fishermen, and she wondered that Jeff 
could go without gathering his family in prayer ; 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


i8i 


yet to him also it was a familiar event, bringing 
no fear. 

When the sun arose on the next morning the 
schooner was out of sight. A fair wind was 
blowing, the sky was blue, and it seemed as if 
God’s benediction attended the departing fish- 
ermen. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


182 


XXL 

A LETTER from Cousin Mysie, Tom ?” asked 
Tom’s mother in her gentle way, as though she 
had no wish nor intention to intrude upon his 
privacy, and yet kept her tender, motherly inter- 
est in all his affairs. 

‘‘ I believe it is, mater,” he answered in an 
off-hand way, just glancing and no more at the 
superscription, and thrusting the letter into his 
breast-pocket. 

'‘In a hurry, old fellow?” said Gregory. 
“We would like to hear how Mysie is coming 
on this dreary, dragging springtime.” 

“ Yes, I am in a hurry. I ’ve an engagement. 
I ’ll leave you the letter, if you want it,” respond- 
ed Tom somewhat testily as he paused near the 
threshold. But they noticed that he made no 
movement to take the letter from his pocket. 

“Oh no, never mind. We' will be patient 
till you come back ; only I will say Mysie is 
wonderfully partial to you.” 

A little silence followed Tom's departure. 
Gerald stood leaning on the back of his mother’s 
chair and heard her soft sigh. He said nothing, 
but passed his hand tenderly over the wavy hair, 
which of late had grown gray so fast. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 183 

Mr. Barton had been exercising great con- 
trol over himself behind his evening paper, and 
now he spoke in a somewhat indignant tone. 

“I'm afraid we are all too easy with that 
boy. He is becoming insufferable with his ‘ en- 
gagements ’ and his airs.” 

Mrs. Barton did not speak. It was simply 
that she could not ; her heart was too full. Her 
lips quivered and her eyes grew dim. Her boy — 
her often erratic, but always affectionate boy — 
it could not be that he was going wrong. One 
of her four precious jewels becoming dull and 
tarnished ! Oh no, surely not ! 

“No, father; as far as I can judge,” replied 
Gerald respectfully, “ you and mother are taking 
the wisest way. I am keeping an eye on Tom ; 
he doesn’t suspect it. I wouldn’t have him 
suspect it. But I know more of him and his 
doings than he imagines ; and it seems to me 
that your constant forbearance and your steady, 
unsuspecting kindness are having their weight 
in the balance against new and outside influen- 
ces. You and Cousin Mysie together will keep 
the boy, I feel sure.” Gerald said, “ By God’s 
help,” in his thoughts ; but, like many another 
man, he hesitated to speak his deeper feelings to 
others. “ Yes, I think Cousin Mysie has a strong 
hold upon Tom yet, though perhaps he would 
not own it. I wish she had never left us.” 


i 84 a fisherman’s daughter. 

“ I dare not wisli that, my son, much as I 
love Mysie and as helpful as I know she would 
be to us all. She is doing such noble, unselfish 
work down there. I doubt if any one realizes, 
perhaps least of all she herself, what an amount 
of good, in one way and another, Mysa is accom- 
plishing in Graves’ Harbor.” 

“ Do you think she will ever succeed in civ- 
ilizing that wild little sister of hers?” 

“Yes, I think the influence of Mysa’s con- 
stant example is stronger with Kitty than any 
mere word-teaching would be. Where she might 
rebel at anything said directly to her, she would 
undoubtedly take notice of a noble life lived be- 
fore her day by day.” 

“ Oh Kitty has some good qualities, and she 
is a very bright girl. When she does make up 
her mind to learn from Mysie she will advance 
rapidly, I think.” 

“We must ask her up as soon as it seems the 
right thing to do.” 

“ Father, do n’t you think we might go to 
Graves’ Harbor next summer ? either take a cot- 
tage (they ’ve been putting up some, I hear) or 
go to the Seashore Home.” 

Mr. Barton sat thoughtful for a moment be- 
fore replying ; then he said, “ I am quite ready 
and willing to go there for the summer. It is 
your mother who must decide that question.” 


A fisherman’s daughter. 185 

“ Mother has n’t any pride, I know.” 

“ No, my boy, I should never feel a minute’s 
uneasiness at having people know that my sister 
is a humble fisherman’s wife. That is not it. 
But would not your aunt Mary or uncle Jack or 
even Mysie herself be embarrassed by our pres- 
ence there ?” 

“ Mysie ?” questioned Gregory in surprise. 

“ What I mean is, might she not feel that it 
would perhaps make a difference in her work, 
her teaching? Though, after all, I do not just 
see how it could.” 

“No, I think your sister is the only one 
whose feelings in the matter we need consider. 
I am quite sure Jack Redwood — if ever he re- 
turns — would not be troubled at all by our pres- 
ence. But then you would not be as thoroughly 
independent there as elsewhere. It would prob- 
ably not be as pleasant for you.” 

“ We will not let any such question as that 
come into consideration at all. Let us think 
over the matter, and if it seems best, I can write 
and ask Mysa what her ideas are.” 

The evening passed. Paul went out, return- 
ing about ten, and asked if Tom had come in 
yet. No, he had not. An hour later Gerald 
and Paul persuaded their mother to retire. 

“And do n’t worry, mother ! We shall never 
lose track of Tom and we will not go to our 


1 86 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


rooms till he is safe in the house. Only we 
must not let him suspect that any watch is kept 
upon his movements, or, depend upon it, he ’ll 
rebel and go further astray!” 

Oh my boy I what does he find anywhere 
that is better than we would give him.^” ex- 
claimed the anxious mother. 

“Just a look into the world’s daring ways, 
and a taste of some forbidden fruit, which will 
presently leave a bitterness, I suspect ! He will 
come back to his best things by-and-by, mother, 
do n’t fear 1 Good-night 1” 

Tenderly these brothers parted from their 
mother, Paul going with her to the door of her 
room. Men though they were, they counted it 
no shame to be their mother’s boys still, to care 
for her and protect her as far as they could do 
so from trouble and anxiety. 

When Paul returned, the brothers sat to- 
gether by the window talking in low tones, and 
listening with anxious hearts as the sounds of 
life died away, one after another, from the 
street. A little after twelve the sound of voices 
was heard breaking on the quiet air. They 
recognized Tom’s, raised and angry, then an- 
other, calm and argumentative. 

“ I tell you I ^Yont be spied upon ! I ’m not 
a baby, and I ’m quite able to take care of my- 
self !” 


A FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 18/ 

“ Well, you ’ve no objection to a fellow walk- 
ing home with you, I suppose? That is all I 
proposed to do when you turned on me so.” 

“A pretty one you are to spy on another fel- 
low, too ! You ’ve been in half a dozen scrapes 
worse than I ever disgraced myself with ; and 
now you think I ’ll stand it to be kept under 
you thumb. But I tell you, Foster, the thing is 
played out !” 

“All right, Tom. We wont quarrel over it. 
Good-night !” answered the other with no doubt 
provoking calmness. 

And then they heard Tom’s latch-key. He 
closed the door quietly and went with a noise- 
less step up to his room. 

“ It was A1 Foster !” said Paul to his brother, 
“and I don’t understand his game. But if he 
gets Tom into mischief and then talks in that 
style, he is worse than I thought !” 

“I don’t know much about Foster. But he 
is considerably older than Tom, is n’t he ?” 

“Not as much older as he seems. I think 
he was thrown upon his own resources, as it 
were, when he was a mere boy, by his father’s 
second marriage with a very young woman. 
Looking out for himself has made Foster seem 
older, and given him an advantage over lads 
like our Tom.” 

So the brothers went to their rooms, and 


1 88 A fisherman’s daughter. 

Tom never knew of their watchful guardian- 
ship. He was reading his letter as they passed 
his door with noiseless tread. He had not until 
then taken it from his pocket. Other things 
had absorbed his attention, yet he had not — 
strange to say — once forgotten that it was 
there ! 

Lying there so still next to his heart, the 
little white, voiceless missive seemed like a 
warm, living hand holding him, keeping him 
back from evil ! He could not lose the thought 
of it ! He would willingly have done so had he 
been able. It oppressed him. He wanted to 
feel perfectly free. But now, here in the pri- 
vacy of his own room, he was willing to let the 
gentle monitress speak. 

He broke the seal and unfolded the sheet 
with deliberation. He read a few lines, smiled, 
read a little further, and made an impatient 
gesture. Then he threw the letter upon the 
table and began to pace the room with quick, 
restless movements. At last he sat down, took 
the letter up again, read the whole of it, sighed 
heavily, and leaning his arms upon the table hid 
his face in them. 

There was something which troubled poor 
Tom besides that letter. It was the change 
which he could see gradually creeping over his 
companion, Foster. It may perhaps, to you and 


A fisherman's daughter. i8g 

me, seem a sudden change, but Tom saw it 
from the very first, slowly, in little ways, day 
by day, coming over his friend’s life. He won- 
dered at it, and it fretted him. It made him 
feel as if he were left alone on the highway, 
where the dazzle and glitter, the noise and con- 
fusion of many voices calling, are very apt to 
lead young men astray. 

Yes, Albert Foster had felt a new influence 
urging him to nobler living. It was the spirit 
of the Friend of sinners, exemplified in the life of 
one who walked in His steps, and he was slowly, 
but surely, striving to follow as it led. Not only 
that, but he was determined to use every effort 
to keep Tom Barton by his side. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


190 


XXIL 

It was a little sunshiny hamlet at the foot 
of a range of low hills. The soft Italian sky 
smiled graciously upon the inhabitants and all 
their belongings. Things rude and rough were 
picturesque indeed in such a light ! Each crag 
and crevice stood out clearly and boldly, as if 
sure of its robe of transforming beauty. 

A little stream ran in and out among the 
descending rocks, sparkling brightly, and laugh- 
ing with a merry gurgle at its own game of 
hide-and-seek. Here and there along the hill- 
side could be seen straggling flocks of goats and 
sheep cropping contentedly their scanty pastur- 
age, and attended by picturesque-looking young 
shepherd lads, ragged and merry. 

In one of the peasant huts of the little ham- 
let a curious conversation was being carried on 
partly in English, partly in .the soft Italian 
tongue. 

Upon a rude bed against the plastered wall 
lay a man slowly dying. About the bed were 
several dark-eyed natives and one foreigner, a 
tall, stalwart seaman, who had a look of anxiety 
and embarrassment upon his weather-worn face. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 191 

“ Most a pity that we ever took ship for this 
port, a’n’t it, Tony ?” A faint smile touched the 
old man’s dark countenance. 

“ I think not, shipmate ! But I have been a 
roving, careless fellow — bad enough, too, no 
doubt! But could I have left Rosa, my little 
Rosa, in that way, never to hear of me any 
more ?” 

His voice was weak, his breath came fitfully, 
and his dark eyes shone with a feverish glare. 

“ But, ’Tonio, what will you do, after all ? 
Her mother is dead, and — ” 

“ Ah yes. Rosa mia ! Che sara^ sara /” inter- 
rupted the sick man with a curious mingling of 
sorrow and satisfaction as the vision of the past 
rose before his mind. 

His little expressions of calm regret were 
immediately overpowered by louder and more 
vigorous cries from the excited Italian inmates 
of the hut. Some of them indeed became quite 
fierce and indignant, so that the foreigner tried 
to hush them. 

“ There 1 ‘come, come ! Do let him die in 
peace! He has done all he could, don’t you 
understand ? And I want to hear what else he 
has to say.” 

They smiled at one another as not compre- 
hending a word of all he had said. 

“What is it you want, ’Tonio?” he asked, 


192 A fisherman’s daughter. 

turning again to his friend. “ I came over here 
with you to help you, and I ’ll stand by you as 
long as I can, though I suppose my poor little 
wife is fretting herself to death at home.” 

“ But she does n’t know what you have passed 
through. Jack, the dangers and the delays.” 

No, she doesn’t know anything;” and Jack 
Redwood fixed his eyes meaningly upon his 
companion and then glanced up at the watchful 
dark faces in the room. 

“ They do n’t understand English. You must 
get Rosie and the treasure, you know, away as 
quietly as you can. It is hers, all of it. I want 
you and her to have it. And, Jack — ” 

‘‘ Yes, Tony, go on. I ’ll stand fast by you if 
I can.” 

Well, Jack, that daughter of yours — not the 
little sprite, that saucy, mischievous little beauty, 
but the tall, Madonna-like girl, with her sweet 
face and soft, kind ways — she is an angel, that 
girl. Jack Redwood.” 

Redwood laughed, not displeased, and re- 
plied, “ She’s a good lass, Tony, and no mistake, 
really good; no make-believe about such kind 
of goodness. You don’t see much like it among 
young folks.” 

Do you know. Jack, her face has come be- 
fore me many a time since you and I left her. 
Sometimes, when I was tempted of the devil to 


A fisherman’s daughter. 193 

cheat or lie (we are so in the way of it here, you 
know, even the children), why, I seemed to see 
her looking at me, her face so noble, so pure ; 
and I have been thinking, partner, it is better to 
live a life like hers." 

“No doubt about that, shipmate. Mysa has 
set us all a good example." 

“Would she, do you think, teach my little 
Rosa to be good like that ? I want to send her 
away with you. Jack — poor little Rosie! — away 
from these people who want her money. It was 
your Mysa who first made me care. I watched 
her day by day, always so true, so kind, so un- 
selfish, and I said to myself, ‘ That is what Rosa, 
my little Rosa, shall be if she still lives.’ And 
then I came to see if she was living, she and my 
other Rosa, her poor mother." 

He was obliged to pause and rest for a few 
minutes. His excitement had quickened his 
pulse, and the fever-glow in his dark cheeks 
burned fiercely. 

Jack Redwood, with a sailor’s tender heart, 
said gently, “ Stand by, old comrade ; never fear 
for your little lass. She shall go to Mysie and 
be cared for. But, Tony lad, Rosie prays to the 
Virgin now," he added with a sudden recollection. 

“ No, no, she must do as Miss Mysie says. I 
will tell her, if they will let me. Wait." 

13 


194 A fisherman’s daughter. 

“I reckon he will sleep now,” Jack said to 
the women. “ Here, Rosie girl, you sit to watch 
by your papa while I get something to eat.” 

He lifted the child to her father’s bedside 
and told the other inmates of the house by vig- 
orous signs that he was hungry and would pay 
well for some food while Antonio slept. 

They were not slow to catch his idea, and 
gradually, casting suspicious glances back to the 
sleeping man and his little daughter, they one 
after another withdrew to a sort of outside eat- 
ing-place, where the fisherman was furnished 
with a meal, for which he paid handsomely, and 
in the preparing of which he kept them busy as 
long as possible, so that his dying comrade might 
have time for all he desired to say to little Rosa. 

No sooner had the last of her intrusive rela- 
tives stepped across the threshold than Antonio, 
opening his eyes, whispered softly, '^Rosa mia^' 
and the child bent over eagerly to hear. 

She was about ten years of age, a slender, 
dainty little creature, with an eager, longing ex- 
pression in her great eyes. 

“ Tell me quick, papa,” she said in the bro- 
ken English which he had taken such pleasure 
in teaching her. ‘‘Tell me quick, before they 
all come back. Let me go with you, oh papa !” 

“ I cannot, darling. I ’m going away never 
to come back. But hark! I want you to go 


A FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER. 1 95 

with the kind Mr. Jack, papa’s good friend. He 
will take you across the big water to such a 
sweet, lovely lady, like the Madonna. Do you 
always, Rosa mia, just what the lady says. I 
trust you to her. Tell her I said so when you 
see her. You will love her when you look at 
her gentle face. Can you understand, Rosie, my 
sweet Rose ?” 

“Yes, yes, papa, Rosa knows. Go with the 
good Mr. Jack.” 

She broke off suddenly as one of the women 
entered the room again and looked at them 
both sharply. 

“Jack is eating?” Antonio asked feebly. 

“ Yes, 5^es. He has paid for it too. We 
do n’t feed the big American for nothing.” 

“Jack is all right. Don’t you be troubled 
about him.” 

And so at intervals these strange snatches of 
conversation were kept up in the little pleasant 
home as the long afternoon wore away. 

But Antonio grew weaker fast ; and when the 
warm-hearted Jack Redwood went himself for 
an English doctor his only reward was an assu- 
rance that nothing more could be done ; the 
Italian must die, and soon. 

His relatives appeared to be quite excited 
and disturbed over something, Redwood could 
not make out what; but their soft, musical, 


196 A fisherman’s daughter, 

though eager “jabbering,” as he called it, did 
not disturb the dying man in the least. 

He looked from his friend the fisherman to 
his little Rosa with calm content in his dark 
eyes, and occasionally he would murmur, “ Miss 
Mysie ! Ay, ay, that ’s all right. So good, so 
true !” or something like it ; then, “ Good-by, 
Rosa inia ; good-by, old shipmate.” 

And so, little by little, the breath of life wore 
away, and fisherman Redwood saw his old friend 
cross the bar into an unknown harbor. 

His heart was heavy with sorrow and awe. 
Much as he had seen of danger and death — and 
no one perhaps sees more of those things than 
a fisherman — he seemed never to have been 
brought so close to the great mystery as when 
there, in that far, fair land, he saw the life go 
out from old Antonio’s dark eyes. Where had 
his merry companion cast anchor at last ? Cer- 
tainly he. Jack Redwood, who called himself a 
Christian, ought to feel some sort of certainty 
about this thing. And yet his mind seemed all 
in a tumult; he could not tell anything. The 
strongest wish he had was to set sail homeward, 
to get to Graves’ Harbor, to find all safe there, 
and to talk it over with Mysie. She could per- 
haps straighten things out for him; she had 
such a calm, bright way of seeing things and of 
helping every one. Even poor Tony had real- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 197 

ized that. He had come to acknowledge that 
there might be higher and better treasures, 
purer riches, than those which he had hoarded, 
and which he now had to leave behind. 

So when he had seen' the grass smooth upon 
his comrade’s grave, and had quietly settled 
what few matters remained to be arranged, fish- 
erman Redwood took little Rosa and slipped 
away, during the long twilight one evening, 
down to the vessel. And when night fell none 
could discern where that vessel moved upon the 
dim waters. 

But Antonio had amply rewarded the rela- 
tives for their care of his little Rosa and her mo- 
ther. 


198 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XXIII. 

A LITTLE “ dory ” was tossing like a shell 
upon the stormy waves. They seemed to sport 
with it as a child would play with a feather, 
laughing gleefully as some specially well-di- 
rected breath carried it up dangerously beyond 
all precedent. 

Two awe-stricken and silent men sat in the 
dory. Men do not talk much at such times. 
Women, perhaps, are more apt to give vent to 
their feelings, relieving their overcharged hearts 
by words. But men are usually impatient of 
words when thought and ^effort are at their 
utmost strain, when danger and death are look- 
ing into their faces, and when human impotence 
is so terribly apparent. There is no room for 
expression then ; words seem weak, almost ir- 
reverent. 

These fisher lads bore evidence of long bat- 
tling with something — wind or wave or hunger 
or thirst — possibly a combination of troubles. 
Their bronzed countenances were pale ; there 
was a look of utter weariness in all their bearing. 
They had a gaunt appearance, as if from hunger, 
or possibly from fear, the record of dangers and 
sufferings past, present, and to come ! 



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Fisherman’s Daughter. Page 198 





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A fisherman’s DAUGFITER. 199 

The breathing of the older man might be 
heard at every lull in the wind, and there was a 
lull occasionally, a terrible pause which was 
worse than the most raging tempest ! 

His strength seemed almost spent, and the 
laboring breath was like a sob of despair. 

His companion gazed at him at intervals 
with a strange yearning of pity in his hollow 
eyes. 

At last he spoke. His voice was hoarse, and 
broke, now and then, as he caught his breath. 

“ Matt, you ought n’t to have come ! I do n’t 
see why they let you. I ought to have known 
better ! It ’s fellows like me who can be spared, 
you know !” 

Even as he spoke, his sister Mysa’s face came 
before him with its look of gentle kindness, and 
he seemed to see that change in it — that record 
of sincere grief — which news of his own danger 
or death would be sure to bring there. 

“Jeff, you and I have often trawled togeth- 
er — often !” 

His last word was a sob, and his face had 
a childish, helpless look. 

Jeff’s sturdy manhood rose up and took 
strong possession of him. 

“ Cheer up, comrade !” he said. “ Do n’t lose 
heart ! Here — see ! How long can you make 
this do?” 


200 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

He held out a sea-biscuit towards the man 
with a strange little quiver of a smile upon his 
lips. 

“You! — where?” said the other huskily, his 
eyes hungrily fastened on it. 

“ Take it, Matt. I found it in the bottom of 
my pocket, the jacket I put on last night in the 
rain. No, I don’t want it. You take it; and 
keep up as long as you can, for the sake of the 
wife and child, you know. Matt !” 

With trembling fingers the man reached out 
and took it. And while he ate it, Jeff looked 
keenly about him, striving to find some hope of 
a lift in the dense fog. He kept his face reso- 
lutely set away from his companion until he per- 
ceived that he had finished the biscuit. 

“ Thank you. Redwood,” the fisherman said 
simply, in his weak voice, when at length their 
eyes met again. 

“That’s all right. Matt,” replied Jeff. A 
new spirit seemed to have entered into this 
young fisherman. As the silence fell between 
the comrades again his thoughts went involun- 
tarily back to Mysa. 

“ How true she is !” he said to himself, “ how 
brave to say what she thinks is right ! And al- 
ways so jolly and bright, too.” 

He remembered what she had said to him 
about having family prayer. He had put her 


A fisherman’s daughter. 201 

off ; he could not exactly tell why ; only he had 
always disliked being dictated to, having things 
suggested to him. He liked best to have the 
credit of beginning things himself. He liked to 
lead, to show others the way they should go. 

Things began to look different to him as he 
realized how utterly dependent he was, what a 
mere child, weak and incapable, how a Higher 
Power held him and controlled him wholly. 

Jeff Redwood never thought more and more 
seriously in all his life than during those days 
on the deep-sea fishing grounds, with the fog 
and drizzle shutting him round and his own 
utter helplessness staring him in the face ! His 
self-conceit diminished wonderfully in those few 
days. Who, indeed, he began to question him- 
self after a while, who, after all, would miss him 
or be the poorer for his death there where none 
could reach him? Whose life would be any 
more barren for lack of his care and kindness ? 
What ear would miss the gentle, caressing word 
that his silent lips could not speak ? 

He was honest with himself at that time, if 
never before. And he knew certainly, beyond 
his mother and Mysa, none could possibly feel a 
sorrow or a loss at his departure. His mother — 
ah well, even Jeffrey Redwood realized some- 
thing of that wondrous earthly love which out- 
lives all else below! Yes, mother would miss 


202 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


him, poor mother ! What had he ever done for 
her, though, that she should miss him ? In what 
way had he ever eased the burden or bright- 
ened the path of life for her? Rather, had not 
his selfishness made things harder for her ? 

It is altogether possible that these thoughts, 
these regrets and insights, would never have 
come to the young fisherman if his sister Mysa 
had not returned to live, among her people at 
home, that life in Christ and for Christ which 
made such a pleasant halo about her way. This 
was part of the work which the Great King had 
given his daughter to do. 

There was little else to do save to think. 
The blinding storm at first, and then the fog 
and drizzle, had so shut down around them that 
they dared not make any effort to find their 
schooner. Hour after hour, and then day after 
day, they waited and hoped and watched. At 
first they felt no alarm. When the storm began 
they did not hasten ; they knew just where the 
schooner lay ; they could soon get to her. They 
had both been out in so many storms, they were 
so well accustomed to the phases and changes of 
that great deep upon which they earned their 
daily bread, that they were perhaps reckless. 

In a little time, even as they consulted to- 
gether and began to make arrangements for 
getting back to the schooner, a fog, like a great 


A fisherman’s daughter. 203 

tent, spread round about them, and they could 
neither see their vessel nor tell where she lay. 
They even laughed at first, as though it were 
only a little trap sprung upon them, and which 
would soon open to let them go free. 

“ Pretty quick work that,” Jeff had said; and 
they sat down together, calling up memories of 
other trips they had made, speaking of dangers 
they had passed through, etc., until suddenly 
they became aware that night was settling down 
upon them and the heavy fog had not lightened 
in the least. 

“ Well, this isn’t much of a catch,” said Matt 
Corwen. “ I declare, I ’m hungry !” 

“ Well, we ought to have had our supper on 
board to-night, I take it,” replied Jeff ; there ’s 
nothing left here — yes, here ’s a bottle of coffee ! 
Mother always says coffee’s ^meat and drink,’ 
and she makes me fetch a bottle or two along.” 

“ I ’d rather have a sip of something warmer, 
you know,” acknowledged the other, laughing, 
for he understood Jeff’s strong temperance prin- 
ciples. ‘^On a night like this, coffee! bless 
you!” But he was only too glad to sip that 
same coffee in the course of the night. 

One day, two days, even three, they bore up 
bravely. It seemed that they must have drifted 
off in the wind and fog. There was nothing 
now to be done but to wait and pray. Matt 


204 A fisherman’s daughter. 

Corwen’s strength began to fail him. He sat 
thinking of his wife and child in the little home 
at Graves’ Harbor. The refrain of a song which 
he had often heard the young folks at the hotels 
sing in the summer came back to him as he 
thought of his young wife : 

“For men must work, and women must weep, 

Though storms be sudden and waters deep, 

And the harbor bar be moaning.” 

He was some six years older than Jeffrey 
Redwood, but he was like a child that last day 
in body and mind. 

All Jeff’s dormant manhood was awakened 
as he watched the poor fellow. Presently he 
looked up at Jeff — and Jeff never in all his life 
could forget that look from the blood-shot and 
hollow eyes — and asked, “Why don’t you 
pray?” 

A sudden shame struck through all the 
young fisherman’s being. “ Why do n’t you 
pray?” For days he had been exhorting this 
companion to “cheer up,” to “remember his 
wife and child,” etc., but he had not once said to 
him, “ Let us pray.” Matt Corwen had not pro- 
fessed to be a Christian. He had never been 
aroused or awakened at any revival. Some peo- 
ple had even regarded him as a “ hopeless case,” 
a sinner beyond cure, careless of repentance 
and thoughtless of the future — a bright, jolly 


A fisherman’s daughter. 205 

fellow, a good fisherman and neighbor, a kind 
husband to young Molly Ash, and a proud, in- 
dulgent father to little Molly number two — but 
an irreligious, irreverent man. Yet he said to 
Jeff, “Why don’t you pray?” looking at him 
with eyes that added, though his lips were too 
feeble to form the words, “You profess to know 
God, to trust in him ; then why do you not ask 
for his help now? Could there be a time of 
greater need than this which we are in ?” 

Jeff read all this and more in the agonized 
glare of Matt Corwen’s hungry eyes. His old 
boast and bluster were gone. He could not up- 
braid his comrade, neither could he excuse him- 
self. 

“ Matt, I’ ve been praying in my heart all the 
time. I had nothing else to do. But I ought to 
have prayed out loud for both of us. I ’ll do it 
now. Matt !” He had taken part in prayer- 
meetings often ; but there he had set forms 
which he had committed to memory. Here was 
a different case, and he felt embarrassed for a 
moment. The trouble was, however, great 
enough to make the self-conceited man forget 
himself for a while, and put his heart’s cry into 
words, simple words of pleading, an earnest 
asking for help — the humblest, most real prayer 
that Jeffrey Redwood ever had uttered. 


206 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


XXIV. 

‘^And the evening and the morning were the 
fourth day.” 

What ’s that ? he ’s coming ’round, boys ! 
Now then, a few drops more. Hold on there, 
do n’t be too generous ; he ’s got to be fed like 
a baby, don’t you know?” Capt. Drake’s voice 
shook a little as he spoke. He was deeply 
moved. 

This young fisherman, whom he had known 
from babyhood, who had trawled for him season 
after season, showing neither fear nor favor to 
any one, but going on his way with a rough de- 
termination — this man had been found with his 
shipmate supported in his arms, moistening his 
lips with the rain-water which they had caught 
and saying words of hope and encouragement. 
He had manifested the greatest interest in the 
care which his companion received, anxiously 
asking if he ‘‘ could n’t bear a little more ” of the 
restorative. Then, as he saw Matt swallow com- 
fortably and heard some one say, “ He ’ll come 
’round all right now!” he suddenly lost con- 
sciousness of everything. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 207 

‘‘ Ah ^ I thought he was keeping up consider- 
able sail. Here, boys, stand out of the way ! 
Keep an eye on Corwen, and be careful. I ’ll 
see to Redwood.” 

As he rattled on in a sort of accompaniment 
to his actions, he and his helpers treated Jeff as 
they had his companion. And soon he too be- 
gan to give evidence of returning animation. 
He opened his eyes and looked up at the schoon- 
er-master ; then, with a tone of awe and rever- 
ence, he repeated those words which had been 
sounding in his ears over and over during those 
last terrible hours, ‘‘ And the evening and the 
morning were the fourth day !” falling back for 
a moment into a half-conscious state. 

“ The fourth day ? So it is, lad. Do n’t you 
believe that we have n’t kept count of ’em ! ay, 
ay, every one !” 

‘‘ Four days ! and in such weather. Poor fel- 
lows !” 

Tears were in Jeff Redwood’s eyes when he 
next opened them. It was a strange sight for 
those who had known him so well, and who had 
never before seen him betray any sign of weak- 
ness or emotion. 

“ Is Matt all right ?” he asked presently. 

‘‘Yes indeed, sleeping like a porpoise. And 
when you both wake up again we’re going to 
feed you like kings !” 


2o8 a fisherman’s daughter. 

Jeff smiled weakly, and having* taken more 
nourishment, he too fell asleep, as had been sug- 
gested to him. 

“ Boys,” said Capt. Drake, I ’m thankful, I 
can tell you. If ever a man was glad to see a 
fellow come out of a faint, I was when Redwood 
opened his eyes. To have been obliged to go 
back to that poor woman, who is as good as a 
widow already, and say to her, ‘Jeff was killed 
at the trawling!’ I tell you, my lads, I couldn’t 
have stood it.” 

“ You reckon that Jack ’s done for, then ?” 

“ I can’t make anything else out of it. It 
isn't like Jack Redwood to keep so quiet, you 
know. He always would find a way to get a 
message to his wife, if ’twa’n’t anything but an 
‘ All ’s well.’ And you mark my word, boys, 
Tony had more bait on his line than we knew 
of!” 

“ He was a queer old fellow, but a right jolly 
one, too.” 

“ There was something between him and 
Jack Redwood, I ’ll wager. These foreigners 
always have a line or two out in deep water.” 

“But I don’t know why Jack couldn’t cast 
anchor and look out for himself.” 

“ Breakers ahead that he had no idea of,” 
replied the captain sententiously. 

“ Well, if Jack Redwood has cast his last line. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 209 

then Jeff here’ll have more left on his hook 
than he can manage.” 

“ Jeff ’s smart enough when he ’s a mind to 
be, though he has never had, nor ever will have, 
old Jack’s pleasant ways !” 

A little smile at poor Jeff’s expense passed 
’round the gossiping group. But they were a 
kindly lot, take them all in all, and there was no 
more trawling done that trip by either Jeff or 
Matt Corwen. 

Meanwhile at the Harbor the lengthening 
days gave a blessed promise of returning spring. 
Mysa’s first winter of her new life in the old 
girlhood’s home was over. It made no great 
show as she looked back upon it ; yet somehow 
her heart was very glad. Her class of young 
girls was a source of greatest delight. The little 
beginning had enlarged gradually in so many 
directions that Mysa found her hands full. Her 
aim was to help the girls in every possible way, 
to open up their lives and characters so that all 
noble and sweet possibilities might enter in. 

She was surprised herself at the glad and 
beautiful results which God granted her. 

Beginning with some simple and pleasant 
reading, which she knew all could understand, 
Mysa had each one read in turn, no matter how 
poorly it must needs be done. 

Her kind, encouraging words helped them 

14 


210 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

all. Then she would explain as they went on. 
The explanation would bring up some other 
branch of study, into which the girls gradually 
gained an insight; and thus one thing led to 
another, as Mysa had hoped it might be. 

And she was herself so really one of them 
that they felt a 'pride and an interest in all 
which she taught and told them such as no ordi- 
nary teaching could have given. 

Outside of books the good influence extend- 
ed to their homes. These, they began to see, 
might be very different places through a little 
care and effort on their part. 

Then it came to pass that many a bit of 
bright, pretty work for home adornment was 
accomplished during the hours of reading or 
study or conversation. “ Miss Mysie ” became 
more of a heroine than ever among the simple, 
grateful fisher-folk. A few of the parents or 
guardians had at first felt a fear lest their young 
girls might grow to feel themselves superior to 
their work and their surroundings. 

But what Mysa had taken special pains to in- 
stil into their minds was the thought that home 
and the dear ones there were the most sacred 
and precious of all God’s earthly gifts, and that 
whatever of beauty or gladness or brightness 
they might gain outside should be employed 
and made helpful, first of all, in the home. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


2II 


Gradually thus a great change crept over 
the lives and the homes of the fisher-people 
of Graves’ Harbor. They scarcely realized it 
themselves. They only knew that somehow 
life seemed a little larger, better, and brighter 
than ever before. The old folks found them- 
selves treated with more respect and courtesy ; 
the burdens of fathers and mothers were light- 
ened and their joys increased ; there were quiet, 
pleasant home enjoyments which the lads and 
lasses had combined to produce, and in which 
they had consequently a real interest. 

The Reading Circle had started its Cabinet 
of Specimens ” of various sorts, a description of 
each of the articles being written by one or 
other of the members ; until eventually, as the 
brothers, in emulation of their sisters, began to 
read and study also, the Cabinet was given over 
to them as being more fit for their care, and 
also because it left the girls more time for their 
own special, womanly interests. 

The Sunday-school had been a wonderful suc- 
cess, and the little ones of the Harbor were get- 
ting a foundation of Christian truth laid in their 
hearts which would, if carefully built upon, pro- 
duce noble lives in the next generation. 

Does it seem to you like a great deal for one 
girl’s work ? Do you remember how the least 
child may touch with tiny finger-tip a simple 


212 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


button, and cause thereby a great result from 
mighty forces — an explosion, a wreck ? It is but 
the little pressure upon the great motive-power 
and all the wondrous machinery is started. 
Only the touch of the finger, steadfast and true, 
and the thrill runs through the whole great com- 
bination from chain to wheel, and all moves in 
beautiful strength and harmony ! Mysa’s was 
only a girl’s feeble hand, it is true ; but with 
calm trust and obedience she had taken hold of 
that which God had set before her; her touch 
had not faltered, though she could not see where 
the golden links of connection were nor what 
the great result would be. 

It seemed a small thing to her. The few fee- 
ble links which she could discern only appeared 
to bind and enthrall her, they were so small, so 
lustreless. Held they any precious jewel in 
keeping ? 

Often did Mysa Redwood ask herself these 
questions in her first months of home-coming 
and home-work. But with her warm, loving 
fingers kept steadily upon this humble starting- 
point, this little knob of home-life and labor, 
how it grew in lustre, how its dull surface began 
to take on polish, to glow and shine ! Why, it 
seemed a very jewel in itself, a simple but won- 
derful “ touchstone,” which carried the electric 
thrill onward and outward through link after 


A fisherman’s daughter. 213 

link, until truly there seemed no end of the 
blessed influence. 

Have we not seen its working far off in the 
sunny land of Italy, in the hearts of rough men ? 
Had not Capt. Antonio chosen to trust his dear^ 
est earthly treasure, his Rosa over the wide 
ocean to a strange land and to this compara- 
tively strange girl, because of the simple beauty 
and truth which he had seen in her daily life ? 
Had he not cast aside the old faith, the old Ma- 
donna-worship, the supplication of saints, as 
worthless and meaningless by the side of this 
girl’s pure words and works, showing God’s love 
in her heart ? 

Had not those two careless men, whose lives 
had been reckless and often wrong, seen the 
beauty of purpose, the sweet unselfishness, the 
gracious meaning of Mysa Redwood’s life ? 

Her easy-going father was deeply moved by 
the recollection of it as he was compelled to 
wait in that far land ; more deeply touched still 
by the thought when he had been .shipwrecked 
and injured during his journey with the foreign 
captain. 

And Jeff, recruiting while others took his 
place at the “ trawling,” seemed to see all life in 
a new aspect. In those hours of danger, when 
death had come so near, he had seemed to recog- 
nize the face of God looking at him. It was the 


214 A fisherman’s daughter. 

face of a Judge. He could not, for all his pro- 
fessed Christianity, smile and say calmly, “If 
my Father is here it is well.” He was dis- 
mayed. He had thought he was “all right,” 
and many others, to tell the truth, all wrong. 
Now he recalled the life of one of those others, 
and a voice seemed to say to him, “ This is the 
way.” 

‘ And thus were those links formed in the 
ever - widening chain of mutual Christian help 
and fellowship. 

Mysa, at her humble home, with her hand 
ever patiently doing what it found to do with 
her might, had no thought of any far-reaching 
influence. She was only striving to do day by 
day her Father’s will and be glad in it. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


215 


XXV. 

The summer-time had come and gone again 
at Graves’ Harbor. It had been a different sum- 
mer from the last : a better one in some ways to 
Mysa as well as to others. 

One great cause for happiness was the pres- 
ence of Uncle Barton’s family at the Harbor. 
Having advised with Mysa, they decided to take 
rooms at Capt. Trawley’s “ Seashore Home.” 
It was a decision which none of them regretted. 
All smaller matters were, for Mysa, outweighed 
by the delight of having her uncle’s family near 
her once more. What if the young friends, 
whom she had not seen since leaving her aunt’s 
city home, did now come and seo the fisher- 
man’s daughter in the fisherman’s humble cot- 
tage? She had, somehow, risen above those 
little, fretting thoughts. Life was too full of 
noble purpose, too real, too busy, to spare one 
hour for idle regret over such things ! She 
would be glad to see them. Yet she almost 
knew how Grace Godwyn would turn up her 
pretty nose at contact with any of the fisher folk ! 

Grace had wondered, before Mysa parted 
from her at Uncle Barton’s, how her friend could 
“ possibly live ” in such an out-of-the-way place 


2i6 a fisherman’s daughter. 

all winter ! She would wonder even more if she 
came to the Harbor and saw the plain, unvar- 
nished reality ! And she did come. Both Grace 
Godwyn and her brother, as well as Paul’s friend 
Chester James, came down for a while. But 
Mysa’s heart was so full of other and far more 
important matters that she scarcely compre- 
hended how her old associates treated her. 

“ What a fuss the Bartons do make over Mysa 
Redwood !” Grace said one evening to her bro- 
ther. “One would think that she was really 
somebody ! I must say they have n’t much 
pride !” 

“ Well, she is a relative, you know. It ’s a 
pity she did n’t stay with them. She is a fine- 
looking young woman, if she only occupied a po- 
sition in society.” 

Grace shrugged her shoulders and looked un. 
happy. Her own lot did not suit her. She was 
compelled — like many another girl — to take close 
and careful account of money. This vexed and 
fretted her, especially when she was in company 
with Mr. and Mrs. Barton and their family, who, 
she knew, were wealthy enough to do and to go 
just as they pleased, without taking account of 
the expense. And that they pleased to stay in 
this quiet seaside spot, where all things were so 
primitive, and so — so — “ fishy,” when they might 
go anywhere, was absurd to this girl. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 21/ 

Grace Godwyn had not yet become a true 
“ King’s daughter.” When once a girl does 
that, the little worries and dissatisfactions of 
earth melt away, and she is left in a clear, calm 
atmosphere of noble realities. 

“ I fancied we should see a good deal more of 
your cousin here at the house, Paul. She 
scarcely gets here at all !” said Chester James to 
his friend one day. 

No ; Mysie does n’t favor us often. She ’s a 
busy little woman, always doing something for 
somebody.” 

“ She might think of us poor fellows among 
the rest occasionally. I can hardly get a glimpse 
of her. And she has refused twice to go out 
rowing with me !” 

“ Well, Chester, we are going to have some 
family excursions, picnics, etc., and you shall 
have your opportunity then, I promise you. 
Mysie never says no to any family party.” 

Paul was pleased to know that his friend 
James had found Mysa as attractive now that 
she lived, a fisherman’s daughter, in a fisher- 
man’s house, as when she had been a bright city 
girl in her uncle’s home. 

“If he should associate much with Mysie 
now, he would see and know her at her best !” 
thought Cousin Paul, with a little thrill of pride, 
as he realized Mysa’s enlarged and ennobled life. 


2i8 a fisherman’s daughter. 

Thus, thanks to Paul, young Mr. James, as 
well as the Godwyns, had opportunities during 
that summer of seeing their old comrade Mysa 
Redwood among the surroundings of her simple 
home. And there were other young folks at the 
Harbor who counted it a pleasure to be with 
Miss Redwood. Her last season’s friends, many 
of them, were there again ; and with such lead- 
ers as the Greshoms, young and old, there were 
found plenty who learned to appreciate and to 
enjoy the society of Jack Redwood the fisher- 
man’s daughter. 

Perhaps the greatest satisfaction to Mysa’s 
heart from the coming of Uncle Barton’s family 
was the thought of how she would be near Tom 
again, that she could see and know for herself 
how he was living, what interests and pleasures 
and friends he had. Tom disappointed her first 
in not coming down with the rest. He and Ger- 
ald, they said, were detained for a day or two, 
and would probably come together. Neither 
Mysa nor Tom knew that Gerald’s movements 
waited entirely upon Tom’s own. 

“ Let ’s try to get off together, old boy,” Ger- 
ald said carelessly to his young brother, with 
that companionable air which he knew poor, 
sensitive young Tom liked, as conveying no im- 
plication of a difference in their respective posi- 
tions. “ I ’ll get through those dry law papers as 


A fisherman’s daughter. 219 

soon as I can, and you let me know how soon 
you can get off. And, oh — by the way — is Fos- 
ter going to Graves’ Harbor this summer?” 

“ I do n’t know. I have n’t vSeen Foster in an 
age,” replied the younger brother cheerfully. 
He was pleased with Gerald’s tone and manner. 
Nothing dictatorial in it ; no attempt to “ spy 
out ” what was Tom’s special cause for deten- 
tion ; no effort to make him go and do as other 
people thought best ! This was the reward 
which Gerald had for his patient, brotherly self- 
denial and care. And I think any young man — 
any man, in fact — can testify to this service of 
Gerald Barton’s that it was no sinecure. 

So the brothers went down together, and oh 
how glad was Mysa to hear the old ring of affec- 
tion in Tom’s voice as he greeted her ! He did 
not look straight into her eyes with the old boy- 
ish frankness, but her faith was strong that he 
would be all she desired. As the days passed 
by she found opportunity for some quiet talks 
with him. He had left college and gone into 
business with an uncle whose namesake he was. 
He said there Ayas “no use in his staying at col- 
lege and making the third professional in the 
family, when he preferred business and business 
preferred him !” 

When he and Mysa were alone together on 
any occasion, Tom always talked fast, “ warding 


220 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


off sentiment,” as he expressed it to himself. 
And Mysa was a wise girl ; she knew she must 
not take advantage of her cousin’s cordial 
friendship to preach to him. Yet her conduct 
that summer was a constant reminder to him, 
stronger than any words, of those things which 
he did not and ought to be doing, and of those 
which he did and ought not to do ! 

Albert Foster did not appear at Graves’ Har- 
bor that season. Nobody spoke of him specially, 
and yet no one seemed to avoid speaking, as 
though there were anything to cover up. At 
last, towards the close of the summer, it was 
Mysa herself who brought forward his name, 
asking directly, “Tom, are you still a friend of 
that Mr. Foster?” 

Tom laughed without looking at his cousin, 
and then repeated, “ ‘ That Mr. Foster,’ did you 
say, Mysie ? ‘ that ’ special one who is enshrined 
in your memory as the chief of impertinent fel- 
lows?” and he laughed again somewhat more 
than the occasion warranted. 

“ I don’t know much about him, Tom ; only 
that he was down here last summer, and that he 
said you and he were friends.” 

“Did he? Well, I guess he was right, My-, 
sie. I have n’t seen A1 in some time now. To 
tell the truth, he grew so very dictatorial I had 
to fight shy of him !” 


A fisherman's daughter. 221 

Mysa could not gain much information from 
Tom ; but she took hope, and tried to dismiss all 
thought of Mr. Foster and such enemies to her 
peace of mind. 

It had been a strange summer of mingled 
shadow and sunshine. Through the long days 
two facts had been gradually revealing them- 
selves to Mysa, which made a large part of her 
summer gladness. One of these was the realiza- 
tion of the change which had come over her 
brother Jeff. He had not returned from that 
memorable fishing voyage a thoroughly differ- 
ent man, but he had come back with a strange 
new light shining over his life and revealing to 
him things as they really were. It was as if a 
lamp had been put into his hand, so that wher- 
ever he turned all things were shown to him 
with the plain, ungarnished clearness of truth. 
The views were not always pleasant to look 
upon, yet he dared not loosen his hold of that 
guiding light. The time had been too solemn, 
too awful a period, in which this lamp had been 
left burning in his hand ! 

The story of the dangerous trawling had, of 
course, been spread and repeated all along the 
shore. Those things, though not new, were 
scarcely ever old to the little hamlet-household. 
‘‘ What has been will be !” Yes, and yet who 
can ever see their dear ones go out to danger 


222 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


and perhaps to death — though it be for the fif- 
tieth time — without heart-yearnings and fervent 
prayers? Who can ever greet the loved ones as 
they return from those familiar dangers and 
risks without tears of joy and grateful heart- 
throbs ? 

Yes, Jeff was changed. Little by little that 
fact became apparent to all — to the young fisher- 
man himself as well as any other. Why, in- 
deed, should not he be changed ? He had seen 
dimly and afar off, to be sure, but still he had 
seen, the King in whose service he had enlisted ; 
he had seen him as a Father caring for his 
children, watching over them, hindering them 
from their own ways ; he had seen the Saviour 
whom Mysa served with such untiring love, 
with such cheerful good-will and perfect obedi- 
ence. 

As he sat out upon those dark waters in his 
frail boat, surrounded by fog and cloud, the radi- 
ance of this sister’s patient life had revealed it- 
self to him suddenly. By that glow he had been 
enabled to see his way to the Father’s love — the 
lesser light had led him up to the Sun of Right- 
eousness ! It was the life of a happy child, giv- 
ing all service gladly and humbly, counting her 
best as nothing and singing as she served, so 
that all who went by might know how blessed a 
thing it was to wait upon the Great King ! 


A fisherman’s daughter. 223 

Another thing which helped to gladden My- 
sa’s heart during that summer was the growing 
content and womanliness of her sister Kitty. 
The presence of her uncle’s family and other 
friends of Mysa’s at the Harbor seemed to give 
Kitty an incentive to cast aside her old frivolity, 
and to prove that she could be truly pleasant 
and womanly. Mysa was glad that there were 
bright days for her sister that summer. She 
was glad to see her go among the cousins and 
friends with a quiet ease of manner which was 
much better than her old dash and boldness. 

Among those friends George Graham had a 
welcome place always. He was at home for a 
vacation, and Mysa could see how pleased he 
was at Kitty’s improved words and ways. Once, 
when he expressed his pleasure at hearing Kitty 
say she had read a certain book, she replied, 
“ Well, that is all Mysa’s doing ! Give her the 
credit! And if you find any fisherman’s girl 
along shore who knows more than to just eat 
and drink and sleep, you may give Mysie the 
credit for that, too !” 


224 


A fisherman’s DAUGFITER. 


XXVI. 

One late autumn afternoon, as Jeff and the 
lads were coming in from the fishing, their at- 
tention was arrested by a strange craft slowly 
drawing near the harbor. 

“What’s that?” cried one and another, put- 
ting up their hands to shield their eyes from the 
rays of the setting sun. 

“A ‘phantom ship,’ I reckon, such as my 
Dolly was reading about t’ other night.” 

“Well, I don’t know, partner; she’s a right 
lively looking little craft, that one.” 

“ She don’t belong in these parts, though.” 

“ No, she do n’t look natural. There ’s some- 
thing foreign-looking about her.” 

“ I wonder if it is n’t old Capt. Antonio back 
again. “ He ’ll have to bring Jack Redwood 
alongside if he wants to cast anchor here, I can 
tell him that.” 

They eyed the little white-winged stranger 
with some suspicion as she drew nearer. 

“ That ’s not Tony’s craft.” 

No, it was not Tony’s craft; but it bore 
Tony’s last message to Graves’ Harbor. Most 
of the fishermen lingered till the strange little 


A FISHERxMAN’S daughter. 225 

bark came up, and there were rowed to shore a 
man and a child. 

A great shout went up from warm, honest 
fishermen’s hearts as they discovered that the 
man, travel-worn and anxious, was their old 
comrade Jack Redwood. They pressed about 
him with eager greeting and welcome. They 
plied him with question after question, scarce 
waiting for answers. Jeff was bewildered. He 
did not seem to know what to do or say. It was 
the presence of the child that puzzled him as 
well as others. 

At last he said, “ Had n’t I better go on ahead 
and give mother a little warning ? It ’ll give 
her something of a start if you go in on her all 
of a sudden so.” 

Jack Redwood looked at his son, amazed at 
the words and tone. Jeff had not been used to 
consider other people ; even his mother had 
never, as Jack remembered, received any special 
consideration at the hands of her son. 

“ Yes, Jeff, you go on. I ’ll follow soon with 
the little one. ’Tonio’s child she is.” 

“ ’Tonio’s child !” was the cry on all sides. 
And the explanation delayed them a little, 
though one could see how impatient Jack was to 
get to his wife. 

Jeff strode along, hoping that he might see 
Mysa before he went in. 

15 


226 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

He did. She and Kitty were just going in 
from looking at the sunset. 

“ Mysie !” called Jeff as he came up, quite 
out of breath. And his sister went towards him 
quickly, for she saw that there was something 
the matter. 

Kitty stood still and watched them with a ^ 
little smile on her bright face. 

“ How Jeff begins to depend upon Mysie !” 
she thought. “ She ’s a good one to depend on 
too. He ’s found that out. He did n’t know it 
once any more than I did ; but he was longer 
■finding it out than I was. Poor old Jeff! he 
doesn’t guess that I know how Molly Deems 
wrecked his pretty craft. It seems a long while 
ago. I wonder if he has ever forgiven her? 
He forgives easier than he used to.” 

Her soliloquy was interrupted by Mysa, who 
came up and whispered in an excited way, 
“Kitty, it is father! Father has come home! 
Hush ! Do n’t cry out. We must break it gently 
to mother. Come in.” 

Kitty glanced back at Jeff. He had turned 
and was walking down the shore again slowly 
and thoughtfully. 

Mrs. Redwood sat in her rocking-chair, her 
knitting in her hands, but the needles quiet and 
her eyes fixed upon the wide expanse of water, 
whose waves tossed and foamed in the fresh 


A fisherman’s daughter. 227 

autumn breeze. She had grown much older in 
the two years. They might have been ten years, 
judging by the marks on hair and face. 

“ Thinking again, mother ? Do n’t you think 
too much ? If you had come out with Kitty and 
me now, you would have enjoyed the sunset and 
the fresh, bright air.” 

“ You are good girls to want your old mother 
with you. I ’m a moody, dull creature for com- 
pany now, my children.” 

“Hear her!” cried the excited Kitty, catch- 
ing the little mother up in her strong young 
arms and carrying her merrily up and down the 
room. “ Now, see here, I ’m a fairy godmother. 
Wish for what you want most of anything in the 
world, mother.” 

“ Oh, Kitty, you wild creature !” exclaimed 
her sister warningly, yet trying to laugh it off ; 
“you will tire mother out.” 

“ She is more likely to tire herself,” said Mrs. 
Redwood, laughing in spite of her heavy heart 
as Kitty seated her again and knelt before her 
with an imperative gesture. 

“ Now wish what you want most of anything 
in the world. I know. I ’ll give it to you too if 
you are good.” 

There was an abrupt pause, and something, 
either a look in Kitty’s eyes or the quick catch- 
ing of Mysa’s breath, startled the mother. She 


228 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

looked from one to the other, her face as white 
as death, her lips quivering so that she could 
not form a word, though she made several 
attempts. 

Kitty looked frightened, and Mysa knelt by 
the chair and put her arms about her mother 
tenderly. 

“ What is it ? Tell me.” 

“ Why, mother, do n’t speak so. Could n’t 
you bear a little joy ?” asked Mysa calmly, but 
without lingering over the words. 

“Joy?” echoed the quavering voice in a 
high, sharp key. Trembling from head to foot 
she searched the faces of her two daughters. 

“ There ! now you are all right, mother. Tell 
her, Mysie,” demanded Kitty, who was also in a 
state of intense excitement. 

Then indeed Mysa had no choice but to say 
as quietly as she could, “ It is joy, mother dear. 
Father is coming home, safe and well. There 
now, cry as much as you like.” 

Yes, it was joy. But joy is a hard thing to 
bear sometimes. And the poor, tired little wife, 
who had thought her earthly support taken from 
her, felt the sudden revulsion too keenly. For 
it was sudden, as all such things are, no matter 
how we may try to ease or graduate them. 

The poor daughters felt as if they had made 
bungling work of it, after all, as the feeble mo- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 229 

ther sought vainly to recover herself and speak 
to them. It was some time before tears came to 
her relief. Then it was the appearance of Kitty 
at her knee, the pretty, girlish face all bathed 
with tears, which acted upon her own over- 
wrought nature and brought the relief she 
needed. After that she could bear the whole 
glad news. And while Kitty told it, Mysa went 
swiftly along the sand to meet her father with 
his little charge. 

Do not take the child in at first, father,” she 
said. “ Let mother have you all to herself ; and 
we will take the little one to the kitchen and 
give her something to eat. Poor tired little 
traveller!” She put her arms about the small 
stranger, whose story she had yet only half 
heard, and the lonely little creature nestled 
willingly up to her new protector. 

Kitty went swiftly out by the kitchen door as 
she saw her father at the other threshold. It 
was a token that she had learned to set self aside, 
to give thought of others the first place. 

In a little while fisherman Redwood appeared 
at the door, asking, “ Where are my lasses ? 
Kitty girl!” And the petted daughter sprang 
to his arms. 

Oh, father ! how glad we are to get you 
again ! Where have you been all this time ?” 

“ Ah, my girl, that ’s a long story, a sea-yarn, 


230 A fisherman’s daughter. 

if you like. We ’ll take our time for it. Come 
in now,” he added, holding Mysa proudly with 
his other arm. “And after our little Rose, here, 
has had supper and gone to bed, we can spin our 
yarns together.” 

He took the little creature in his arms, and 
sat by his wife, saying simply, 

“Mother, this is ’Tonio’s little girl, little 
Rosa. She is very tired ; and Mysie will give us 
all some supper, so that we can go to sleep. We 
do n’t like sleeping on the tipsy-topsy boats, do 
we, Rosie?” 

“ No, Mr. Jack,” replied the child in her bro- 
ken English, and using the address by which 
her father had always spoken to her of his com- 
panion. 

The girls hastily prepared a bountiful supper, 
working together in such pretty fashion that 
their father could not but notice it. He remem- 
bered sadly — as who in the company did not? — 
the day of their departure (Antonio’s and his) 
two years before. He remembered how differ- 
ently Kitty had acted, on that occasion, in regard 
to helping her sister with the meal. Why, how 
was all this? What change had come over the 
young folks? Even Jeff — yes, he actually heard 
Jeff ask if he should do this or that for them ! — 
and he saw him bring in a pail of water to his 
sisters. Then he remembered old Antonio’s re- 


A fisherman’s daughter. 231 

mark about Mysa ; be remembered how they had 
both thought of her — of her truth and hope and 
kind ways — as they passed through danger and 
trouble and shipwreck, in far-off places, and 
longed for such a peace and calm assurance as 
hers ! Could it be that this girl had worked such 
changes among the members of her family? 
this bright young creature, who might have been 
excused, perhaps, for giving more thought to 
herself and her own special affairs ! 

When the little Rosa was put to bed. Red- 
wood told the story of his adventures, his and 
Tony’s — a story of trials and hardship and dan- 
ger ; of wrong-doing and repentance too. Tony 
had wanted his friend to go with him back to his 
native land. He had perhaps thought that he 
might not return from there, and there were 
many things which he desired to reveal to one 
so friendly and so easy-going as Jack Redwood. 

“ I did n’t really know what Tony meant, 
nor how long it would keep me away. But he 
begged me so hard that I hadn’t the heart to 
say no. Then he put the boys on the fishing- 
smack and told them to go straight home. I 
will say I sort of hankered to go with them as I 
saw them getting off. But poor old Tony, you 
know, has been a good friend to me ; and he 
gave right out as soon as I spoke of leaving him. 
A tender, woman-hearted fellow he was ! He 


232 A fisherman’s DAUGHTER. 

did n’t go right home, either ! He took me to 
some places he knew ; and we were careless and 
got into trouble, and then shipped in a hurry, 
and the ship was wrecked. I may say I was 
pretty homesick just then ! It was impossible 
to write you then, and afterwards I did not like 
to write till I could tell when I would return.” 

Evidently, too, the fisherman was somewhat 
ashamed of this part of his record. For a staid 
and well-meaning man, he had been certainly 
carried too far by the new scenes and excite- 
ments. But finally he and his companion had 
finished their wanderings, with convsiderable re- 
gret for their yielding to temptation and wasting 
precious time. 

“ Tony had been sick at F , and the fever 

had n’t got out of his blood yet, or he ’d never 
have done, and led me, as he did ! I saw he 
wasn’t well. I wanted to get him to his old 
home. I made sure he would be all right there. 
But before we came near there I had to carry 
him like a baby ! His strength just drifted right 
out ; and I almost feared the poor fellow would 
die before he got home !” 

Then followed the account of Tony’s death at 
home, his hoarded money, his beloved child, 
and his wishes respecting her, all as we have 
already heard it. 

Now Jack Redwood had no idea of imposing 


A fisherman’s daughter. 233 

any burden upon his daughter ; but he saw her 
face grow grave and thoughtful as she heard of 
Antonio s wish for his child. A little natural, 
youthful desire to be free of care, to think of her- 
self and her own special future a little more, to 
look at some bright spots in her sky which 
seemed very beautiful and very pleasant to her — 
yes, all this was very excusable in our heroine. 
But for her first and most important always was 
the kingly Father’s will ; bound up with that in 
shining links must ever be her own longings 
and plans. 

“Don’t you fret, Mysie ! You sha’n’t be 
hampered by anything. Tony did n’t mean that. 
He only meant that you knew what was best 
about bringing up the little one in the right 
way ; and so whatever you said must be the 
thing to be done ! She has plenty of money, 
has little Rosie ! Tony has been very liberal all 
’round. He was a rich man. But we ’re not 
going to tell that all ’round the Harbor ! Let 
little Rosie have all the education you think 
best, Mysie ; and it shall be paid for, fair and 
square ! She ’s to stop praying to images, too ! 
Tony said so. He never was much in that way 
himself ; but he married — well, there ’s no use 
in talking about that ! It ’s all plain sailing now. 
Tony said he liked your way, Mysie ; and so lit- 
tle Rosie ’s to be brought up as a true Christian. 


234 A fisherman’s daughter. 

A good thing, too, to knock away the timbers 
under her now, while she ’s so young !” 

Mysa’s thoughts wandered, occasionally, as 
her father talked. There were so many things 
to think of, to plan for. Another winter -was 
near at hand. Was she ready and glad for her 
work ? 

Jeff was watching her face as the changing 
thoughts left their traces upon it. She had been 
a patient, good sister to him. She must not be 
allowed to sacrifice too much for others. Pres- 
ently he said, in a quiet way which did not seem 
enthusiastic, 

“ Whatever comes, Mysie must go up to Cous. 
in Gerald’s wedding! We must make her go. 
He ’d never feel he was rightly married if she 
wa’ n’t there to see it !” 

It was not a polished or elegant speech nor 
a specially bright one ; but Mysa understood 
perfectly well the kind, brotherly feeling which 
prompted it, and she answered quickly, “Oh it 
is good of you to think of that, Jeff. I should 
be glad if I could be spared for a little while.” 

“Spared? I just guess you may,” put in 
Kitty in her old dashing way. “ Do n’t I want 
to show how I can keep house and all that ? Of 
course you ’ll go.” 

“ Why, yes, my child, do go, and stay long 
enough for a good rest. The strain has been 


A FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 235 

hard on you this year. I have known it all 
along, and I think we must do without you now 
for a while.” 

A brightness was upon the thin mother-face 
such as Mysa had not seen there in many a day, 
and she took heart and decided that she might 
really have her visit to the city. 

Fisherman Redwood gave a start of surprise 
when he saw his son Jeff take up the Bible to 
read aloud before they separated for the night ; 
but he was, fisherman-like, equal to the occasion. 

“You are right, my lad. I ought to have 
done it long ago, but I have got into careless 
ways.” 

“ It was Mysie’s doing, father,” replied Jeff 
quietly. 

And for the first time since Jeff had adopted 
the custom Kitty remained that night to hear, 
perhaps to think her little sharp, critical 
thoughts ; but at least she said nothing and lis- 
tened respectfully. 

Mysa’s eyes filled with glad and grateful 
tears as she knelt by the side of that wayward 
sister. She felt that she had very much to give 
thanks for that night; God had been so gra- 
cious, had done such great things for her, for all 
of them. 


236 


A fisherman's daughter. 


XXVII. 

I HATE awfully to cast any shadow on your 
visit, Mysie ; but to do justice to others I must 
tell of my own blunders and shortcomings.” 

Tom looked at his cousin rather shamefa- 
cedly. She smiled affectionately back. 

“ Who is there that I care for in comparison 
with my old cousin and playfellow Tom? If 
you have passed through hard places and com- 
mitted errors, and if you are out on clear, honest 
ground again and mean to stay there, I am quite 
satisfied without your telling me more.” 

A little quiver of intense feeling passed over 
Tom’s face as Mysa spoke thus, resting her hand 
on his arm. He made one or two efforts before 
he could command his voice sufficiently. 

“ I have passed through some dark places, 
Cousin Mysie, and I have blundered terribly. I 
have been very headstrong. But I am on hon- 
est standing-ground once more, thanks to my 
good helpers, and I mean” — he made a reverent 
pause there, and Mysa understood that he recog- 
nized his need of divine help — “ to stay there. 
But if it hadn’t been for one man I think I 
should not have reached that standing-spot. No 
other on earth knew just how low I fell nor just 


A fisherman’s daughter. 237 

what help would reach me best. I knew that 
your prayers and my mother’s were following 
me always ; I knew how uncommonly brotherly 
my brothers were; but this man put out his 
hand and gave me that help which saved me 
from such a confession as would have wounded 
the hearts of my dear ones. He held me fast, as 
it were, till I could straighten myself out and 
look people in the face again.” 

He paused, glancing at her to see whether 
she turned from his confession in disgust. No, 
she was grave ; but her face had not lost its old 
look of gentle forbearance. 

As he waited she said softly, “ Yes, Tom, I 
can understand. Who was your faithful friend ?” 

A little sparkle shone in Tom’s eye as she 
asked this question, and he watched her intently 
as he replied, “ My faithful friend was Albert 
Foster!” 

Mysa started in surprise, almost indignant. 

No, Tom !” 

“Yes, Cousin Mysie. Ah he said you would 
not believe any good of him. But I wish you 
knew what I do of him.” 

“Tom, I thought he was a wild, careless 
young man, that he had no principle, that he 
did not mind what harm he did only so that he 
had his own pleasure. Could I have been so 
greatly mistaken in my ideas ?” 


238 A fisherman’s daughter. 

“ That is just what I want to tell you, Mysie. 
He was once perhaps just about such a fellow as 
you imagined. He has a queer sort of home — a 
step-mother as young as he is himself, and no 
one to take any special interest in him, in what 
he does or where he goes. His father provides 
him with money and thinks he has done his 
duty by him. So of course Foster grew to care 
more for having a good time than anything 
else. It was in such a mood that he first crossed 
your path at Graves’ Harbor, so he told me. 
And, Mysie, I guess you were sent to help poor 
Al. He says so, at any rate. He says you were 
not afraid to tell him the truth and to shame 
him out of his selfish ways. I do n’t know how 
that was, Mysie, but I never saw a fellow so 
changed. And he would not let me alone either. 
He has been at my heels ever since, keeping 
such a watch upon me that once or twice I be- 
came really angry at him and gave him a piece 
of my mind. Mean of me, wasn’t it ! You see, 
I could n’t understand what he meant. And at 
last he told me one night. He said he had 
helped to lead me astray, and he would never 
rest till he saw me safe on the right track again. 
I began to see what a really good foundation 
there was under all his selfish, go-easy way. 
And when I got into a bad place he seemed to 
find it out, and he just came and stood -there by 


A fisherman’s daughter. 239 

me and talked squarely and shielded me. If he 
had n’t — oh, Mysie, it would make my mother’s 
heart ache to know how far wrong her boy would 
have gone! Will you think better of A1 Foster 
now ?” 

“ Oh, Tom, I thank you so for telling me ! 
You do n’t know how glad I am.” 

It was a pleasant marriage ceremony and a 
pleasant wedding company ; one not wholly 
given up to extravagance and display, but one 
where each could recognize the solemnity as well 
as the joy of the event. Many of Mysa’s school- 
day friends were there ; many others, also, whom 
she was glad to meet. Among the latter was 
George Graham, who, during his studies in the 
city, had become a frequent visitor at Mr. Bar- 
ton’s. They had all been good friends to the 
aspiring fisherman’s son. Mr. Barton’s and Ger- 
ald’s influence had secured him a scholarship ; 
and to Mrs. Barton he was indebted for all the 
refining helps and influences of home. 

“ He will make a smart man. He is quiet ; 
but he has real talent, and is wide-awake on all 
points,” said Mr. Barton. 

George Graham was also glad to meet Mysa 
and to hear directly of all at home. His place at 
the fishing had been well filled by the next bro- 
ther, Hugh, who was a far better fisherman 


240 A fisherman's DAUGHTER. 

than George ever would have been, because his 
heart was in the work. 

“ And indeed Mr. and Mrs. Graham are get- 
ting to be very proud of their ^ son at college,’ ” 
said Mysa, smiling into the grave face at her side. 

She and George had many quiet talks togeth- 
er during her stay at her uncle’s. Other friends, 
also, were not slow to seek her out after the 
wedding ceremony was over. Among them the 
Greshom family held a prominent place. It was 
an intimate friend of Miss Greshom whom Ger- 
ald had chosen to be his wife ; and so the two 
families saw a good deal of each other. Gerald’s 
bride was a gentle, lovely girl. 

“ She will be a real daughter to you. Aunt 
Julie !” said Mysa cheerfully. 

“ I think she will, Mysie. But for all that, I 
cannot lose my own ‘ little adopted,’ as the boys 
call you. I think, dear, that your influence has 
been great over my boys, and especially your 
brave example in keeping to the path of duty 
rather than the pleasanter and easier walks you 
might have chosen.” 

Mysa did not recognize Mr. Foster at first. 
His face and bearing seemed different from what 
she remembered. But when she saw Tom 
bringing a young man triumphantly over to her, 
she knew who it must be. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 241 

“ I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Foster,” 
said Mysa, in her clear, truthful voice. And she 
proved her words by talking with him in a frank 
and friendly way, as she would have talked with 
Paul or Gerald. She saw him once or twice 
again during her stay in the city. And the last 
time he said, 

“ I have heard. Miss Redwood, that your sis- 
ter is coming by-and-by for a visit here. I want 
to ask you if you prefer that I should not come 
to the house during her stay here ? I like to 
come in here of an evening. It is such a home- 
like spot, and the people one meets here are so 
congenial. My father’s wife has such large com- 
panies, they are wearisome ; and it rests me to 
get here. They are all so kind, and especially 
your aunt ; Mrs. Barton is so motherly in her 
way. But if you say that you would feel easier 
knowing that I was not coming here, I shall 
cheerfully comply with your wishes.” 

But Mysa had no desire to shut him out of 
his second home. She told him trustfully that 
she would ask no such self-denial on his part. 

It was true that Kitty’s often-talked-of visit to 
the city was at last to take place. 

It was not thought best for both daugh- 
ters to leave Mrs. Redwood at one time. So 
Kitty had bade her sister “stay for a good 
16 


242 A fisherman's DAUGHTER. 

visit,” and had put off her own turn till later in 
the winter. 

When Mysa returned home she had a trunk- 
ful of pretty things which Aunt Julie sent to 
Kitty, and with industrious fingers the sisters 
worked up the materials, while their happy 
talk made their home cheerful. Their mother 
thought she had never been so happy, so com- 
fortable, in her life. She watched the bright 
faces of her daughters and wondered what the 
future held in store for them. Her old fear for 
the wayward Kitty, lest she should commit some 
impulsive, foolish, sentimental act, and perhaps 
make her whole life one unhappy mistake, had 
almost passed from her mind. The girl seemed 
more sober, not so easily carried away by every 
breath of foolish flattery. In fact, it was an 
altogether tearful and loving face which Kitty 
showed on the morning of her departure. 

“ I will be good, and not disgrace you !” she 
whispered to her sister, between laughing and 
crying, as her father helped her into the stage. 

And she was true to her word. 

“ A prettier lass never stepped across Barton’s 
threshold !” exclaimed her father, as he gazed 
after the lumbering vehicle ; and all the little 
folks shouted and waved their handkerchiefs. 

“ But they wont talk to her that way at Uncle 
Barton’s, father,” said J^Iysa, laughing. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 243 

“No, I suppose not. Well, I ’m a foolish old 
man, but I ’m proud of my daughters ! and of 
Tony’s girl, too !” he added, lifting up the 
dainty, dark-eyed creature for a kiss. 

Then Mysa began her little school with the 
three children in great earnest. She had large 
ambitions for Charley. He was an earnest little 
student, and she wanted him to go to college. 
As yet only she and Charley together had spoken 
of it. There was considerable she could teach 
him yet. 

Little Rosa proved an apt scholar, and the 
lessons progressed rapidly during the stormy 
days of that winter. Mysa tried faithfully to 
leave all the future in her Father’s hands with- 
out anxiety, and to do just the present duties. 
If little Rosa needed her, then surely she must 
not refuse the new responsibility and burden. 
But as it seemed then she would have a happy 
and permanent home in the fisherman’s cot- 
tage ; and as her education advanced, whatever 
was deemed best could be added. It was easy to 
impress the childish heart with the thought of a 
Saviour’s love and to eradicate all tendency to- 
wards her mother’s errors. Remembering what 
her father had said to her, Rosa gave instant 
heed to all that Mysa taught her. 

Many friends of her father were glad to see 
the little creature so like him ; and she soon be- 


244 A fisherman’s daughter. 

came a blithe visitor, flitting here and there 
among the fishermen’s homes. 

Kitty returned from her visit in the city im- 
proved and brightened in many ways. 

She was more womanly and thoughtful. But 
she had a little discontent to fight daily as the 
quiet home routine became irksome to her. Now 
and again a flash of the old rebellious spirit, or 
a return of the old longing for ease and admira- 
tion, would startle them all. But Mysa’s ever- 
ready tact and sympathy helped her sister to 
conquer these. 

“Yes, Kitty, I know all about that feeling,” 
she said kindly, when the girl confessed that 
home seemed “ so homely,” with its round of 
simple tasks. 

“You? Why, Mysie! And nobody ever 
guessed it! You always seemed so happy and 
satisfied.” 

“Well, try to be so yourself, and you will 
seem the same.” 

They were growing more and more compan- 
ionable, these two sisters ; and Mysa revealed to 
Kitty more of her own struggles and hopes and 
trials than she had told any one since leaving 
Aunt Julie. In return she gained Kitty’s confi- 
dence, whose girlish troubles were greatly re- 
lieved by talking of them. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 245 

It was hard, at first, to bring Kitty back to 
the old ways, the' readings and studying. 

But Mysa’s kind warning as to the need of 
such things, their help in making life bright, and 
her own constant enjoyment of them, finally 
conquered. 

“ But, Mysa, are you never going to consider 
yourself — and me ?” 

It was Jack Greshom who pleaded so earnest- 
ly. He had been very patient, he said, and 
thought it quite right that Mysa should begin to 
think of rewarding him — having done so much 
for so many others ! 

“ Oh, Jack ! I wonder if it is right ?” 

“ Of course it is right ! No one here needs 
you as much as I do ! I have given place to one 
and another till I really begin to feel defrauded 
of my just reward. I am sure your uncle Barton 
has done a splendid thing: and you ought to 
show him that you fully appreciate it.” 

“ Yes, he has indeed ! His taking Charley to 
send to college, after all his own boys, is just 
beautifully kind !” 

‘'And your father couldn’t spare Rosie, he 
says, even if she wanted to come with us, dear.” 

That “ us ” brought the quick color to My- 
sa’s cheeks. How sweet it was to be taken 
charge of in that way ! 


246 A fisherman’s daughter. 

“And we are not going to the ends of the 
earth, you know ; you shall be near enough for 
them all to call upon you in any emergency. 
Shall it be ‘ yes,’ Mysa, my brave, unselfish little 
woman ?” 

And it was “ yes.” 

It is June again at Graves’ Harbor, and the 
sunset is flooding all the place wuth a wondrous 
radiance. The fishing-boats are coming in ; and 
there is, as of old, a little group waiting and 
watching on the shore. They are chatting to- 
gether in cheerful tones, and there is a friendly 
interest among them. 

Across the harbor waters, as the sturdy little 
boats come in, there rings the music of a clear 
young voice, and a slight, boyish figure stands 
up in one of them waving his cap to some one 
on the shore. 

A girl waves her handkerchief in return, and 
laughs a proud, happy laugh. 

The tall, quiet-looking young man standing 
at her side, seeing the smile and the clear, un- 
troubled eyes, says to himself, “ How fair she is !” 

And now, as the boats are drawn up on the 
sand, and the merry boy jumps ashore first, one 
can see how like he is to this young girl. 

He calls to her as he comes along, with the 
fresh color in his cheeks. 


A fisherman’s daughter. 247 

Do n’t talk to me about going to college, 
Kit ! I ’in bound to be a sailor ! Oh, I love the 
old ocean !” 

She laughs, as if she fully understood his 
feeling. 

“ But you ’ll be sure to read and study all the 
same, as you promised Mysie. Wont you, Ben ?” 

‘‘ Oh yes, to be sure ! Nobody ever forgets 
what he promises to Mysie !” 

The young girl and the thoughtful man walk 
slowly along together, and he talks earnestly in 
a low voice. She laughs and half shakes her 
head. 

“ Oh I ’m such a silly girl, you know ! You 
would make people stare ; and I would jar your 
beautiful, smooth life, even though I tried not 
to!” 

“ I will take the risk of it all, Kitty,” he an- 
swers quietly. “ I ’ve thought of it for so many 
years I” 

That brings quick tears to the bright eyes. 
And after a little while she says, in a low voice, 

“ Well, I never, never shall be good enough 
or wise enough for you, you dear, patient old 
George ! But if you are willing to put up with 
me — ” 

And he was willing. 

As he parts from her to catch the stage, and 
she goes on alone by the still shore, there is a 


248 


A fisherman’s daughter. 


strange, deep beauty in her face, as if she were 
praying and knew that she would be heard. 

* * * * * 

Thus the work of the King’s daughters went 
on among the fisher-people ; a golden chain of 
strong, beautiful links, whose beginning, per- 
haps, one might place at Mysa Redwood’s heart, 
but whose end — where was it ? 


















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